Page:Tullochgorum (1).pdf/7

 With sword by his side, like a caddie,

To drive in the sheep and the nowte,

His doublet sae weel it did fit him,

It scarcely came down to mid-thigh,

With hair pouthered, hat, and a feather,

And housing at courpon and tee.

But Bruckie played boo to Bawsie,

And aff scoured the cowte like the win;

Poor Wattie he fell on the causey,

And brised a' the banes in his skin.

His pistols fell out of the hulsters,

And were a’ bedaubed with dirt:

The folk they came round him in clusters,

Some leugh, and cried, Lad, was ye hurt?

The cowte wad let naebody, steer him,

He was aye sae wanton and skeigh;

The packmens stands he o'erturned them,

And gart a' the fair stand abeigh.

With sneering behind and before him;

For sic is the mettle of brutes;

Poor Wattie, and wae's me for him,

Was fain to gang hame in his boots,

Now it was late in the ev'ning,

And bughting time was drawing near;

The lasses had stenched their greening

With fouth of braw apples and beer.