Last night I was right scarce o' men:
But Toppet Hob o' the Mains had guesten'd in my
house by chance;
I set him to wear the fore-door wi' the speir, while I
kept the back door wi' the lance;
But they hae run him thro' the thick o' the thie, and
broke his knee-pan,
And the mergh[[195]] o' his shin bane has run down on his
spur leather whang:
He's lame while he lives, and where'er he may gang.