His flunkies answer at the bell:
He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse; [calls]
He draws a bonny silken purse
As lang's my tail, where, through the steeks, [stitches]
The yellow-letter'd Geordie keeks. [guinea peeps]
Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling;
And though the gentry first are stechin', [cramming]
Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their pechan [servants, belly]
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie, [rubbish]
That's little short o' downright wastrie. [waste]
Our whipper-in, wee blastit wonner! [wonder]
Poor worthless elf! it eats a dinner
Better than ony tenant man
His Honour has in a' the lan';
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, [put, paunch]
I own it's past my comprehension.

LUATH

Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash'd eneugh; [troubled]
A cottar howkin' in a sheugh, [digging, ditch]
Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dyke, [building, wall]
Baring a quarry, and sic like; [clearing]
Himsel', a wife, he thus sustains,
A smytrie o' wee duddy weans, [brood, ragged children]
And nought but his han'-darg to keep [hand-labor]
Them right and tight in thack and rape. [thatch, rope]
And when they meet wi' sair disasters, [sore]
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters,