“Guid-een,” quo' I; “Friend! hae ye been mawin, When ither folk are busy sawin!”^1 I seem'd to make a kind o' stan' But naething spak; At length, says I, “Friend! whare ye gaun? Will ye go back?”
It spak right howe,--“My name is Death, But be na fley'd.”--Quoth I, “Guid faith, Ye're maybe come to stap my breath; But tent me, billie; I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith See, there's a gully!”
“Gudeman,” quo' he, “put up your whittle, I'm no designed to try its mettle; But if I did, I wad be kittle To be mislear'd; I wad na mind it, no that spittle Out-owre my beard.”
“Weel, weel!” says I, “a bargain be't; Come, gie's your hand, an' sae we're gree't; We'll ease our shanks an tak a seat-- Come, gie's your news; This while ye hae been mony a gate, At mony a house.”^2
[Footnote 1: This recontre happened in seed-time, 1785.--R.B.]
[Footnote 2: An epidemical fever was then raging in that country.--R.B.]
“Ay, ay!” quo' he, an' shook his head, “It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed Sin' I began to nick the thread, An' choke the breath: Folk maun do something for their bread, An' sae maun Death.
“Sax thousand years are near-hand fled Sin' I was to the butching bred, An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, To stap or scar me; Till ane Hornbook's^3 ta'en up the trade, And faith! he'll waur me.
“Ye ken Hornbook i' the clachan, Deil mak his king's-hood in spleuchan! He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan^4 And ither chaps, The weans haud out their fingers laughin, An' pouk my hips.
“See, here's a scythe, an' there's dart, They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart; But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art An' cursed skill, Has made them baith no worth a f-t, Damn'd haet they'll kill!
“'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gane, I threw a noble throw at ane; Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain; But deil-ma-care, It just play'd dirl on the bane, But did nae mair.
“Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, An' had sae fortify'd the part,
[Footnote 3: This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is professionally a brother of the sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an apothecary, surgeon, and physician.--R.B.]
[Footnote 4: Burchan's Domestic Medicine.--R.B.]
That when I looked to my dart, It was sae blunt, Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart Of a kail-runt.