They stript awa the skin aff-hand,
Wi' a' the woo' aboon;
There's ne'er a flesher[107] i' the land
Had done it half sae soon.
They took the haggis-bag and heart,
The heart, but and the liver;
Alake, that siccan a noble part
Should win intull the river!
But Archie he has ta'en them a',
And wrapt them i' the skin;
And he has thrown them o'er the wa',
And sicht whan they fell in.
The cradle stans by the ingle[108] toom,[109]
The bairn wi' auntie stays;
They clapt the carcase in its room,
And smoored it wi' the claes.
And down sate Archie daintilie,
And rocked it wi' his hand;
Siccan a rough nourice as he
Was not in a' the land.
And saftlie he began to croon,[110]
"Hush, hushabye, my dear."—
He had na sang to sic a tune,
I trow, for monie a year.
Now frae the hills they cam in haste,
A' rinning out o' breath;—
"Ah, Archie, we ha' got ye fast,
"And ye maun die the death!
"Aft ha' ye thinned our master's herds,
"And elsewhere cast the blame;
"Now ye may spare your wilie words,
"For we have traced ye hame."—
"Your sheep for warlds I wad na take;
"Deil ha' me if I'm lying;
"But haud your tongues for mercie's sake,
"The bairn's just at the dying.
"If e'er I did sae fause a feat,
"As thin my neebor's faulds,
"May I be doomed the flesh to eat
"This vera cradle halds!