4
But what are a’ sic mighhty schemes,
When ance the spell is broke man?
A set o' maut-inspiring whims.
That end in perfect smoke, man:
An what (illegible text)e some disaster keen.
Can chase the glamour frae our een.
An bring us to oursels again?
As was the fate o my o d pate,
When that night late I took the gate,
as crouse as ony cock man,
For, sad misluck without my hat
I doiting cam awa man,
And when I down the Drygate cam,
the win' began to blaw man;
When I cam to the Drygate brig.
The win blew aff my gude brown wig,
That whirled like ony whirligig,
As up it flew out o' my view,
While I stood glowring, waefu blue,
wi’ wide extended jaw man.
When I began to grape for t syne.
thrang poutrin wi‘ my staff, man
I coupet owre a muckle stane.
and skailed my pickle snuff man
My staff out o my had did jump
An struck my snout a dreadfu' thump,
Whilk raised a most confounded lump.
But whar it flew I never knew.
Yet sair I rue this mark sae blue,
it leuks sae fleesome waff man
