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When you and I were young and skiegh,
And stable-meals at Fair were driegh,
How thou wad prance, and snere, and skriegh,
And tak the road,
Town's bodies ran, and stood abiegh,
And ca't thee mad.

When thou was corn't, and I was mellow,
We took the road aye like a swallow:
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow,
For pith and speed;
But every toil thou pay't them hollow,
Whare'er thou gaed.

The sma', droop-rumpit, hunter cattle,
Might ablins waur'd thee for a brattle,
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle,
And gart them whaizle;
Nae whip or spur, but just a wattle:
O' saugh or hazel.

Thou was a noble Fittie-lan',
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn;
Aft thou and I, in aught hours gaun,
In gude March weather,
Hae turn'd sax rood before our han',
For days thegither.

Thou never braindg't, and fetch't, and fliskit,
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,
And spread abreed thy weel fill'd briskit,
Wi' pith and power,
Till spretty knowes wad rair't and riskit,
And slippet owre.