And then its shanks,
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma'
As cheeks o' branks. sides of an ox's bridle
‘Guid-een,’ quo' I; ‘Friend! hae ye been mawin, Good-evening, mowing
When ither folk are busy sawin?’ sowing
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan',
But naething spak;
At length says I, ‘Friend, wh'are ye gaun? going
Will ye go back?’