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"A Tale o the times that are past,

The deeds o' the day that are gane,

Fan goblins, abroad i' the blast,

At midnight made horrible mane.

Fan knowledge, in cloisters confin'd,

Was kept by the clerical crew,

The people, priest-ridden an' blind,

Believ'd sic absurdities true.

In ancient times, far in the north,

A hunder miles ayont the Forth,

Upon a stormy winter's day,

Twa men forgather'd by the way;

An' as they had some piece to gang,

To keep the time frae seeming lang,

They did agree to gang the gither,

As company to ane anither.

Ane was a sturdy bardoch chiel,

An' frae the weather happit weel

Wi' a mill'd plaiden jockey coat;

An' eke, he on his head had got

A Thrummy Cap, bait large and stout,

W' flaps ahint (as weel's a snout),

Whilk buttoned close aneath his chin,

To keep the cauld frae cummin' in;