held a light. 
     By which heroic Tam was able
     To note upon the haly table,
     A murderer’s banes, in gibbet-airns;
     Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
     A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
     Wi’ his last gasp his gabudid gape;
     Five tomahawks, wi’ blude red-rusted: 
     Five scimitars, wi’ murder crusted;
     A garter which a babe had strangled: 
     A knife, a father’s throat had mangled. 
     Whom his ain son of life bereft,
     The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft;
     Wi’ mair of horrible and awfu’,
     Which even to name wad be unlawfu’.

     As Tammie glowr’d, amaz’d, and curious,
     The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;
     The Piper loud and louder blew,
     The dancers quick and quicker flew,
     The reel’d, they set, they cross’d, they cleekit,
     Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
     And coost her duddies to the wark,
     And linkit at it in her sark!

     Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans,
     A’ plump and strapping in their teens! 
     Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flainen,
     Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!—­
     Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,
     That ance were plush o’ guid blue hair,
     I wad hae gien them off my hurdies,
     For ae blink o’ the bonie burdies! 
     But wither’d beldams, auld and droll,
     Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,
     Louping an’ flinging on a crummock. 
     I wonder did na turn thy stomach.

     But Tam kent what was what fu’ brawlie: 
     There was ae winsome wench and waulie
     That night enlisted in the core,
     Lang after ken’d on Carrick shore;
     (For mony a beast to dead she shot,
     And perish’d mony a bonie boat,
     And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
     And kept the country-side in fear);
     Her cutty sark, o’ Paisley harn,
     That while a lassie she had worn,
     In longitude tho’ sorely scanty,
     It was her best, and she was vauntie. 
     Ah! little ken’d thy reverend grannie,
     That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
     Wi twa pund Scots (’twas a’ her riches),
     Wad ever grac’d a dance of witches!

     But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
     Sic flights are far beyond her power;
     To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
     (A souple jade she was and strang),
     And how Tam stood, like ane bewithc’d,
     And thought his very een enrich’d: 
     Even Satan glowr’d, and fidg’d fu’ fain,
     And hotch’d and blew wi’ might and main: 
     Till first ae caper, syne anither,
     Tam tint his reason a thegither,
     And roars out, “Weel done, Cutty-sark!”
     And in an instant all was dark: 
     And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. 
     When out the hellish legion sallied.