me and asked them to think about why he was interfering

'There's aye the Stinchar.' Hoot awa',

She's roarin' reid in wrathfu' spate;

Maist like yer kimmer when ye're late

Forbye to speer for leave I'm blate

O Louis, you that writes in Scots,

Ye're far awa' frae stirks and stots,

Wi' drookit hurdies, tails in knots,

MY mirth's like thorns aneth the pots