THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE
129
"There's whusky brewed in Galashiels,
"An' L. L. L. forbye;
"But never liquor lit the low
"That keeks fra' oot your eye.
"There's a thrid o' hair on your dress-coat breast
"Aboon the heart a wee?"
"Oh! that is fra' the lang-haired Skye
"That slobbers ower me."
"Oh! lang-haired Skyes are lovin' beasts,
"An' terrier dogs are fair,
"But never yet was terrier born,
"Wi' ell-lang gowden hair!
"There's a smirch o' pouther on your breast
"Below the left lappel?"
"Oh! that is fra' my auld cigar,
"Whenas the stump-end fell."
"Mon Jock, ye smoke the Trichi coarse,
"For ye are short o' cash.
"An' best Havannahs couldna leave,
"Sae white an' pure an ash.
