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a' his siller wi some gambling sparks,
pawn’d for punch his Bible and his sarks;
driven at last to own be had enough,
hame a' rags to haud his father's pleugh.
Poor hum-drum Ringan play’d anither part,
Ringan wanted neithor wit nor art:
mony a far aff place he kent the gate;
deep, deep learned, but unco, unco
kend how mony mile ’twas to the moon,
mony rake wad lave the ocean toom;
pre a' the swallows gaed in time o' snaw,
it gars the thunders roar and tempests blaw;
(illegible text)Here lumps o’ siller grow aneath the grun;’
(illegible text)w a’ this yirth rows round about the sun;
Short, on books sae meikle time he spent,
cou’dna speak o’ aught but ringan kent.
Ane meikle learning wi’ sae little pride,
An gain’d the love o’ a’the kintra side;
(illegible text)l Death, at that time, happ'ning to nip aff
(illegible text)The pairish Minister—a poor dull ca’f,
gan was sought he cou’dna’ say them nay,
