‘But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot,
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't;
I'll nail the self-conceited sot
As dead's a herrin':
Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, Next, wager
He gets his fairin'!’
But, just as he began to tell,
The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell struck
Some wee short hour ayont the twal, beyond, twelve
Which rais'd us baith: got us to our feet