I.

It chanced that at an old tobacconist’s, Outside the door a painted figure stood, A Kilted Scotchman neatly carved in wood; ’Twas new and rather good. Now Tomkins bent upon a spree, Walked down the street the various sights to see; But when the painted image Tomkins view’d, To this he sprung, to this he clung, And ran like mad along the High with this Across his shoulder swung.