an' brought a paitrick to the grun'—

a bonie hen;

and, as the twilight was begun,

thought nane wad ken.

the poor, wee thing was little hurt;

i straikit it a wee for sport,

ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't;

but, deil-ma-care!

somebody tells the poacher-court

the hale affair.

some auld, us'd hands had taen a note,

that sic a hen had got a shot;

i was suspected for the plot;

i scorn'd to lie;

so gat the whissle o' my groat,

an' pay't the fee.

but by my gun, o' guns the wale,

an' by my pouther an' my hail,

an' by my hen, an' by her tail,

i vow an' swear!

the game shall pay, o'er muir an' dale,

for this, niest year.

as soon's the clockin-time is by,

an' the wee pouts begun to cry,

lord, i'se hae sporting by an' by

for my gowd guinea,

tho' i should herd the buckskin kye

for't in virginia.

trowth, they had muckle for to blame!

'twas neither broken wing nor limb,

but twa-three draps about the wame,

scarce thro' the feathers;

an' baith a yellow george to claim,

an' thole their blethers!

it pits me aye as mad's a hare;

so i can rhyme nor write nae mair;

but pennyworths again is fair,

when time's expedient:

meanwhile i am, respected sir,

your most obedient.