Death and Doctor Hornbook（3 / 7）

  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.”
  “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 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
  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, ↑返回顶部↑