Page:Underwoods, Stevenson, 1887.djvu/137

Rh "Lordsake! we're aff" thinks I, "but whaur?

On what abhorred an' whinny scaur,

Or whammled in what sea o' glaur,

Will she desert me?

''An' will she just disgrace? or waur''—

Will she no hurt me?"

Kittle the quaere! But at least

The day I've backed the fashious beast,

While she, wi' mony a spang an' reist,

Flang heels ower bonnet;

An' a' triumphant—for your feast,

Hae! there's your sonnet!