For he was sitting pu'ing hemp;
My aunt, whom' nane dare say has no grace,
Was reading on the Pilgrim's Progress;
The meikle tasker, Davie Dallas,
Was telling blads of William Wallace;
My mither bade her second son say,
What he'd by heart of Davie Lindsay;
Our herd, whom all folks hate that knows him,
Was busy hunting in his bosom;