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3 Donald Caird can wield a spade,

Fast as onv o' the trade;

Houk a hole, or lay a stane,

Gleg as ony 'round the glea:

Let him taste the barley-brae,

The mools he'il cast a storey hie,

Then rattling stane, and skulls a' bare,

Are flung, Jike dirt, by Donald Caird.

Whiles Donald roars, when nane are deeing

Hoot man! it's a trade no worth ha'ing;

It is na constant bread ava;

Yet faith he winna fling't awa.

Now kintry bodies be good to Donald,

For he's cam aff the great Clan Ronald;

He'll watch the kirk yard after ten;

Donald Caird's come again.

THE BOATIE ROWS.

O may, the boatie row,

And better may she speed;

And liesome may the boatie row,

That wins the bairns' bread.

The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows indeed;

And weel may the boatie row,

That wins my bairns' bread.