Page:Underwoods, Stevenson, 1887.djvu/159

Rh Ye scarce deserved it, I'm afraid—

You that had never learned the trade,

But just some idle mornin' strayed

Into the schüle,

An' picked the fiddle up an' played

Like Neil himsel'.

Your e'e was gleg, your fingers dink;

Ye didnae fash yoursel' to think,

But wove, as fast as puss can link,

Your denty wab:—

Ye stapped your pen into the ink,

An' there was Rab!

Sinsyne, whaure'er your fortune lay

By dowie den, by canty brae,

Simmer an' winter, nicht an' day,

Rab was aye wi' ye;

An' a' the folk on a' the way

Were blithe to see ye.