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THE TURNIMSPIKE.
Hersell pe Highland shentleman,
Pe auld as Pothwel prig, man;
And monie alterations seen
Amang the Lawland whig, man.
First, when her to the Lowlands cam,
Nainsell was driving cows, man:
There was nae laws about him's narse,
About the preeks or trews, man.
Nainsel did wear the philabeg,
The plaid prik’t on her shouder;
The gude claymore hung pe her pelt,
The pistol sharg’d wi' ppuder.
But for whereas these cursed precks,
Wherewith mans narse be lockit,
O hon that e’er she saw the day!
For a’ her houghs be prokit.
Every thing in the Highlands now
Pe turn’t to alteration;
The soger dwal at our door check,
And that’s te great vexation.
Scotland pe turn't an England now.
And laws bring on te cadger:
