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,

and flee o&039;er the hills like a craw, an,

i can haud up y head wi&039; the best o&039; the breed,

though ftterg ever braw, an

y at and y vest, they are stch o&039; the best,

o&039;pairs o&039; guid breeks i hae a, an;

and stockgs and pups to put on y stups,

and ne&039;er a wrang steek the a&039;, an

y sarks they are few, but five o&039; the new,

al&039; hundred, as white as the snaw, an,

a ten-shillgs hat, a holnd cravat;

there are no ony poets sae braw, an

i never had frien&039;s weel stockit ans,

to leave a hundred or a, an;

nae weel-tocher&039;d aunts, to wait on their drants,

and wish the hell for it a&039;, an

i never was cannie for hoardg o&039; oney,

or cught&039;t tother at a&039;, an;

i&039;ve little to spend, and naethg to lend,

but deevil a shillg i awe, an