IV.

"Coot tay to you, sir; Are you not ta Fhairshon? Was you coming here To fisit any person? You {130}are a plackguard, sir! It is now six hundred Coot long years, and more, Since my glen was plundered."

"Fat is tat you say? Dare you cock your peaver? I will teach you, sir, Fat is coot pehaviour! You shall not exist For another day more; I will shoot you, sir, Or stap you with my claymore!"

"I am fery glad To learn what you mention, Since I can prevent Any such intention." So Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh Gave some warlike howls, Trew his skhian-dhu, An' stuck it in his powels.

In {131}this fery way Tied ta faliant Fhairshon, Who was always thought A superior person. Fhairshon had a son, Who married Noah's daughter, And nearly spoiled ta Flood, By trinking up ta water: