A T Th D（3 / 3）

he an of uzz

your spitefu&039; joke?

an&039; how ye gat hi i&039; your thrall,

an&039; brak hi out o&039; hoe an hal&039;,

while scabs and botches did hi gall,

wi&039; bitter cw;

an&039; lows&039;d his ill-tongu&039;d wicked scaul&039;,

was warst ava?

but a&039; your dogs to rehearse,

your wily snares an&039; fecht fierce,

s&039; that day ichael did you pierce,

down to this ti,

wad dg a ln toun, or erse,

prose or rhy

an&039; now, auld cloots, i ken ye&039;re thk,

a certa bardie&039;s rant, drk,

ckless hour will send hi lk

to your bck pit;

but faith! he&039;ll turn a rner jk,

an&039; cheat you yet

but fare-you-weel, auld nickie-ben!

o wad ye tak a thought an&039; n&039;!

ye aibls ight—i dna ken—

stil hae a stake:

i&039; wae to thk up&039; yon den,

ev&039;n for your sake!