An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a', dunghill pool
An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour
Fu' fast that night
They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice; urged
They hecht him some fine braw ane; promised
It chanced the stack he faddom'd thrice[16] measured with outstretched arms
Was timmer-propt for thrawin': against leaning over
He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak gnarled
For some black gruesome carlin; beldam
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, uttered a curse