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6
Sic unco’ backs, and deadly whacks,
I never saw the like man,
Lost hands and heads, cost them their deeds,
that fell at Preston-Dyke man.
That afternoon when a’ was done,
I gade to see the fray man;
But I had wist what after past,
I’d better staid awa man:
On Seaton sands wi’ nimble hands,
they pick’d my pockets bare man:
But I wish ne'er to prie sic fear,
for a’ the sum and mair man.
THE MINSTRAL.
Keen blaws the wind o’er Donnacht-head,
The snaw rives drives snellie thro’ the dale;
The Gaberlunzie (illegible text)irls my seeck
And, shiv ri g tells his warfu’ tale.
Cauld is the sight, let me in
A dinne let your minstrel fa’,
And di na let is his winning sheet
Be sae hi g but a wreath o’ snaw
Full (illegible text)ninety winters seen
