What tho’ at times, when I grow crouse,I gie their wames a random pouse,Is that enough for you to souseYour servant sae?Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the-louse,An’ jag-the-flea!6
King David, o’ poetic brief,Wrocht ’mang the lasses sic mischiefAs filled his after-life wi’ grief,An’ bluidy rants,An’ yet he’s rank’d amang the chiefO’ lang-syne saunts.12
And maybe, Tam, for a’ my cants,My wicked rhymes, an’ drucken rants,I’ll gie auld cloven’s Clootie’s hauntsAn unco slip yet,An’ snugly sit amang the saunts,At Davie’s hip yet!18
But, fegs! the session says I maunGae fa’ upo’ anither planThan garrin lasses coup the cran,Clean heels ower body,An’ sairly thole their mother’s banAfore the howdy.24
This leads me on to tell for sport,How I did wi’ the Session sort;Auld Clinkum, at the inner port,Cried three times, “Robin!Come hither lad, and answer for’t,Ye’re blam’d for jobbin!”30
Wi’ pinch I put a Sunday’s face on,An’ snoov’d awa before the Session:I made an open, fair confession—I scorn’t to lee,An’ syne Mess John, beyond expression,Fell foul o’ me.36
A fornicator-loun he call’d me,An’ said my faut frae bliss expell’d me;I own’d the tale was true he tell’d me,“But, what the matter?(Quo’ I) I fear unless ye geld me,I’ll ne’er be better!”42
“Geld you! (quo’ he) an’ what for no?If that your right hand, leg or toeShould ever prove your sp’ritual foe,You should rememberTo cut it aff—an’ what for noYour dearest member?”48
“Na, na, (quo’ I,) I’m no for that,Gelding’s nae better than ’tis ca’t;I’d rather suffer for my fautA hearty flewit,As sair owre hip as ye can draw’t,Tho’ I should rue it.54
“Or, gin ye like to end the bother,To please us a’—I’ve just ae ither—When next wi’ yon lass I forgather,Whate’er betide it,I’ll frankly gie her ’t a’ thegither,An’ let her guide it.”60
But, sir, this pleas’d them warst of a’,An’ therefore, Tam, when that I saw,I said “Gude night,” an’ cam’ awa’,An’ left the Session;I saw they were resolved a’On my oppression.66