Torbay had incurred a good deal of expense
To make him a Scotchman in every sense;
But this is a matter, you’ll readily own,
That isn’t a question of tailors alone.
A Sassenach chief may be bonily built,
He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt;
Stick a skeän in his hose—wear an acre of stripes—
But he cannot assume an affection for pipes.
Clonglockety’s pipings all night and all day
Quite frenzied poor Pattison Corby Torbay;
The girls were amused at his singular spleen,
Especially Ellen M‘Jones Aberdeen,
“Macphairson Clonglocketty Angus, my lad,
With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad.
If you really must play on that cursed affair,
My goodness! play something resembling an air.”
Boiled over the blood of Macphairson M‘Clan—
The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man;
For all were enraged at the insult, I ween—
Especially Ellen M‘Jones Aberdeen.
“Let’s show,” said M‘Clan, “to this Sassenach loon
That the bagpipes can play him a regular tune.
Let’s see,” said M‘Clan, as he thoughtfully sat,
“‘In my Cottage’ is easy—I’ll practise at that.”
He blew at his “Cottage,” and blew with a will,
For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until
(You’ll hardly believe it) M‘Clan, I declare,
Elicited something resembling an air.
It was wild—it was fitful—as wild as the breeze—
It wandered about into several keys;
It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I’m aware;
But still it distinctly suggested an air.
The Sassenach screamed, and the Sassenach danced;
He shrieked in his agony—bellowed and pranced;
And the maidens who gathered rejoiced at the scene—
Especially Ellen M‘Jones Aberdeen.
“Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather around;
And fill a’ ye lugs wi’ the exquisite sound.
An air fra’ the bagpipes—beat that if ye can!
Hurrah for Clonglocketty Angus M‘Clan!”