Sax months before to work in Troon,
To carry clubs or mend auld shoon,
At ilka t' ade a handy loon.
Skipper and Jock were cronies thrang,
Had kent and liked each other lang;
Mony a gill they'd drunk thegither,
And friendly treated ane anither.
Jockie was like a bed of sand,
The more he drank, the more he'd stand;
But Skipper, wud, and wilder grew,
And never stopped till roarin' fou.
What wonder, then, at Jock's surprise
To find his frien' in sic-like guise,
Or Jock's ill-mannered exclamation
And rough demand for explanation.

The Skipper lookit sair offended,
And muttering growled, his hand extended.--
Queer manners you hae brocht frae Troon;
Come here, you jawing gowk, sit doon.
Instead of coorse and ill reflections
On my past life, and ways, and actions,
Your greetin' might hae been more ceevil,
You ill-condeetioned gabbin' deevil.
Hoot, Skipper, nae offence was meant,
For you and I are weel acquaint.
Now dicht your mou', and tell me true
How cam' ye by that bit o' blue?

The Skipper gazed as wise and solemn
As if he felt his hand on helm
His cutter o'er the green waves guiding,
Close hauled, through kittle channel gliding.
Oh, Jock! I doot I'm rash to tell ye
What strange and awfu' things befell me,
Unless like me you'd warning tak',
Ere sorrow lay you on your back.
Sae, to avert sic dismal fate,
My woful tale I'll now relate.--
He sighed and spat, then sighed again,
And thus his simple tale began:

'Twas on a summer's afternoon,
Just after you had gane to Troon,
I foregather'd wi' ane Tammas Trail,
Auld mate o' mine who bides in Crail.
A man o' means, wi' nets and boat,
A fisher keen, and much afloat;
A very decent chappie Tam,
Who, like me, dearly lo'ed his dram.
He kent my weakness, nocht would serve him,
But I maun tak' my supper wi' him.
The supper was baith het and good--
No that I'm nice about my food;
We'd rizzared haddies, if you please,
Tripe and ingans, toasted cheese,
And whiskey grand frae Cameron Brig,
Better was never 'stilled by Haig.
And, oh! a jolly time we had,
For my pairt I was skirlin' mad,
And Tammie, he was in his glory,
Just ripplin' o'er wi' joke and story.
But a' things good maun hae an end,
Baith joys and pains o' human kind,
And Time, the thief, wi' spitefu' stroke,
Snecket our fun 'fore ten o'clock--
That nicht--the thocht o't gars