From swells and sinners o' distinction:
Ginerals, Cornels, and sodger gentry;
Gude kens! there's wale o' them and plenty!
'Mong Clairgy, Lawyers, and Professors,
Poor folk in trade, and sma' transgressors.
Save us man! You micht hae grippet
A Provost wi' an ermine tippet,
Or eke a consequential Bailie,
Or Councillor fu' wise and wily.
Instead, to nab a poor auld caddie,
'Twas _mean_,' I tell't him, Jock Pitbladdie.
'Cocksure you hae me in your grip--
There's mony a slip 'tween cup and lip.
Eneugh! I'm weary and half dead,
Lost or saved, I maun win hame to bed.'
At my free speech old Sooty growled,
And at me glared malevolent and scowled;
Then tee'd wi' care, his ball addressed,
And stood a golfer grand confessed.

Oh, Jock, I think I see him yet;
That scene I never can forget,
Broad-shouthered, slight o' powerful bield,
Long-armed, lean-shankit, strapping chield;
His fearfu' tail, red, stiff, and stark,
And at the end the gleamin' spark!
Gudesake, to think the Prince o' H--l,
At oor grand game should bear the bell!
He drove a long, low ripping shot,
O'er brig and road to the green he got.
I followed true, for me right good,
But, alas, I landed on the road!
My heart it sank, but I lay clean,
For muckle waur I might hae been.
I took my cleek--Oh, blessed happy lick!
Home went the ball fornent the stick,
Dead as a corp, or Julius Caesar,
Baalam's ass, or Nebuchenezzar.
Forward I ran, richt eager, to the green
To see how good my luck had been.
Fortune indeed had smiled upon me,
I lay a dead and perfect stymie!
Auld Sin he looked as black as thunder
To be so foiled, I dinna wonder.
I sprang wi' glee, and gied a howl,--
'I've stymed the Deil and saved my sowl!'
'Villain!' he roared, 'You sot, you've done me,
My malison and curse be on ye!'
With that he struck me wi' his tail
Right on the stern, just like a flail,
So cruel, strong, severe a lounder,
In faith it felled me flat's a flounder.

[Illustration]

I ken nae mair, all was confusion,
How long I lay I have nae notion.
My friends they tell me I was found
Senseless, and dead-like, on the ground;
Home to my bed they kindly bore me,
Made fruitless efforts to restore me,
But all in vain, for fever seized me,
And friendly death well-nigh released me.
Seven days and nights I raved and tossed,
For ever screaming lost, lost, lost!