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Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan,
Deit mak his king's-hood in a splenchan!
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Guchan[1],
And ither chaps,
The weans had cut their fingers, laughin,
And pouk my hips.
Deit mak his king's-hood in a splenchan!
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Guchan[1],
And ither chaps,
The weans had cut their fingers, laughin,
And pouk my hips.
See here's a scythe, and there's dart,
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart,
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art
And cursed skill,
Has made them baith no worth a f—t.
Damn'd haet they'll kill.
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart,
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art
And cursed skill,
Has made them baith no worth a f—t.
Damn'd haet they'll kill.
'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gane,
I threw a noble dart at ane,
Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain;
But deil-ma-care,
It just play'd dirt on the bane,
But did nae mair.
I threw a noble dart at ane,
Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain;
But deil-ma-care,
It just play'd dirt on the bane,
But did nae mair.
Hornbook wag by, wi' ready art
And had sae fortified the part
That when I looked to my dart,
It was sae blunt,
Fient haet o't wad hae pierce the heart
О'a kail-runt.
And had sae fortified the part
That when I looked to my dart,
It was sae blunt,
Fient haet o't wad hae pierce the heart
О'a kail-runt.
I drew my scythe in-sic a fury,
I near-hand cowpit wi' my hurry:
I near-hand cowpit wi' my hurry:
B
