Page:Raising the wind, or, Habbie Sympson & his wife baith deid (2).pdf/7

 At fairis he playit befoir the speir-mən,

Al' gaillie graithit in thair geir, yuhen

Steil Bontis, Jackis and Swordis sae clear then,

Like ony beid;

Now quha sall play befoir sic weir men,

Sen Habbie's ceid?

At Clark-playis quhen he wont to cum,

His pype playit trimlie to the drum,

Lyke bikes of beis be gart it bum,

And tuneit bis reed;

But now onr pypis may a sing dum,

Sen Habbie's deid?

And at hors races mony a day

Befoir the black, the brown, and gray,

He gart bis pypis quhen he did play

Baith skirl and scried,

Now all sic pastymis quite away,

Sen Habbie's deid.

He countit was, a weild wicht man,

And ferslie at fute ball he ran,

At every game the grie he wan,

For pith and speid,

The lyke of Habbie wasna than,

But now he's deid.

And then besyde his valziant actis,

At bridalis he wan mony plackis,

He bobbit aye behint fowks bakis,

And schuke his heid,

Now we want 'mony merrie crakis,

Sen Habbie's deid.