Classic Poem

I

It's wrang indeed now, Jenny, white,
To spoil a lad sae rare;
The gams 'at yence were his delyte,
Peer Jacky minds nae mair.

II

Nae mair he cracks the leave o' th' green,
The cliverest far abuin;
But lakes at wait-nae-whats wuthin
Aw sunday efter-nuin.

III

Nae mair i' th' nights thro' woods he leads,
To trace the wand'rin brock;
But sits i' th' nuik, and nought else heeds,
But Jenny and her rock.

IV

Thus Harculus, 'at (ballats say)
Meade parlish monsters stoop,
Flang his great mikle club away,
And tuik a spinnel up.