Where sailors gang to fish for cod.
His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar,
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar;
But though he was o' high degree,
The fient a pride, nae pride had he; devil
But wad hae spent are hour caressin'
E'en wi' a tinkler-gipsy's messan: mongrel
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, smithy
Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddie, matted cur, ragged
But he wad stand as glad to see him,