The graip he for a harrow taks, dung-fork
An' haurls at his curpin: trails, back
An' ev'ry now an' then, he says,
‘Hemp-seed! I saw thee,
An' her that is to be my lass
Come after me an' draw thee
As fast this night.’
He whistled up Lord Lennox' march,
To keep his courage cheery;
Altho' his hair began to arch,