Gude pity me, because I’m little!
For though I am anelf o’ mettle,
An’ can, like ony wabster’s shuttle,
Jinkthere orhere,
Yet, scarce as lang’s a gude kail-whittle,
I’m uncoqueer.
An’ now Thou kens our waefu’ case;
For Geordie’s jurrwe’re in disgrace,
Because we stang’d her through the place,
An’ hurt her spleuchan;
For whilk we daurnashow our face
Within the clachan.
An’ now we’re dern’din dens and hollows,
And hunted, as was William Wallace,
Wi’ constables-thae blackguard fallows,
An’ sodgers baith;
ButGudepreserve us fraethe gallows,
That shamefu’ death!
Auld grim black-bearded Geordie’s sel’-
O shake him owrethe mouth o’hell!
There let him hing, an’ roar, an’ yell
Wi’ hideous din,
And if he offers to rebel,
Then heave him in.
When Death comes in wi’ glimmerin blink,
An’ tips aulddrucken Nanse the wink,
May Sautan gie her doupa clink
Within his yett,
An’ fill her up wi’ brimstone drink,
Red-reekin het.
Though Jock an’ hav’rel Jean are merry-
Some devil seize them in a hurry,
An’ waft them in th’ infernal wherry
Straughtthroughthe lake,
An’gietheir hides a noble curry
Wi’ oil of aik!
As for the jurr-puir worthless body!
She’s got mischief enough already;
Wi’stanged hips, and buttocks bluidy
She’s suffer’d sair;
But, may she wintlein a woody,
If she wh-e mair!