The Trogger

AS I cam down by Annan side,
Intending for the border,
Amang the Scroggie banks and braes,
Wha met I but a trogger.
He laid me down upon my back,
I thought but he was jokin,
Till he was in me to the hilts,
O the deevil tak sic troggin!

What could I say, what could I do,
I bann’d and sair misca’d him,
But whiltie-whaltie gae’d his arse
The mair that I forbade hime:
He stell’d his foot against a stane,
And doubl’d ilka stroke in,
Till I gaed daft amang his hands,
O the deevil tak sic troggin!

The up we raise, and took the road,
And in by Ecclefechan,
Where brandy-stoup we gart it clink,
And the strang-beer ream the quench in.
Bedown the bents o’ Bonshaw braes,
We took the partin’ yoking;
But I’ve claw’d a sairy cunt synsine,
O the deevil tak sic troggin!