But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, dodges
Behint the muckle thorn:
He grippit Nelly hard an' fast;
Loud skirled a' the lasses; squealed
But her tap-pickle maist was lost, almost
When kiutlin' i' the fause-house[10] cuddling
Wi' him that night.
The auld guidwife's well-hoordit nits[11] well-hoarded nuts
Are round an' round divided,
An' mony lads' an' lasses' fates