An' while that baith the twa o' them
Were sayin' some orra wordies,
Auld Corkie's leg, wi' hauf o's breeks,
Cam' clean aff at the hurdies.
Jock swat wi' fear, an' in the dark
He crep' attour the smiddy,
For, weel-a-wat, he thocht his wark
Would land him on the widdy.
An' wi' the leg he ran till's hoose,
Just half way doon the clachan,
His cronies oxterin' Corkie oot,
An' nearly deein' o' lauchin'.
But at Jock's door they stude an hour,
An' vainly kicked an' knockit,
Sin' Jock, in a' the fear o' death,
Had got it barred an' lockit.
An' 'twas na till the neist forenune
They fand the leg, weel hidden,
For Jock was oot afore daylicht
An' stuck it in the midden.
This feenished Jock, an' efter han'
He buckled til his ain wark,
For sune a' owre the kintra-side
They kent aboot his bane wark,
An' hoo a law-wer fleggit Jock
At Corkie's instigation,
An' gart him pay a five-pun' note
By way o' compensation.
Ne sutor ultra crepidam
Is gude enough for maist o's,
For aye there's wark that's bude to get
The better o' the best o's.
An' just as doctors canna shoe
Or haud a hin' leg stiddy,
Ye needa seek for surgery
Inside a country smiddy.
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