Dumfoundered he was, but nae sigh did he gie: He mounted his mare, and he rade cannilie; And aften he thocht, as he gaed through the glen, ‘She’s daft to refuse the Laird o’ Cockpen!’” JOHN TOD. “He’s a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod; He’s a terrible man, John Tod. He scolds in the house; he scolds at the door; He scolds in the vera high road, John Tod; He scolds in the vera high road. The weans a’ fear John Tod, John Tod; The weans a’ fear John Tod: When he’s passing by, the mithers will cry:— ‘Here’s an ill wean, John Tod, John Tod; Here’s an ill wean, John Tod.’ The callants a’ fear John Tod, John Tod; The callants a’ fear John Tod: If they steal but a neep, the laddie he’ll whip; And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod, John Tod; And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod. And saw ye nae wee John Tod, John Tod? O saw ye nae wee John Tod? His bannet was blue, his shoon maistly new; And weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod; And weel does he keep the kirk road. How is he fendin’, John Tod, John Tod? How is he fendin’, John Tod? He’s scourin’ the land wi’ a rung in his hand, And the French wadna frichten John Tod, John Tod; And the French wadna frichten John Tod. Ye’re sun-brint and battered, John Tod, John Tod; Ye’re tautit and tattered, John Tod: Wi’ your auld strippit coul, ye look maist like a fule, But there’s nous i’ the lining, John Tod, John Tod; But there’s nous i’ the lining, John Tod. He’s weel respeckit, John Tod, John Tod; He’s weel respeckit, John Tod: He’s a terrible man; but we’d a’ gae wrang If e’er he sud leave us, John Tod, John Tod; If e’er he sud leave us, John Tod.” Again, in another key, how would Edinburgh, how would Newhaven, how would all the coasts of the Forth, like to lose that famous song of the fisherwomen, written long ago for Neil Gow, and sent to him anonymously for the purposes of his concerts?