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“We have done with that I make no insinuations about the woman, if it be proper not to do so. I speak of what airt your own judgment is to be.”

Empty the temple, empty the lover, Empty each airt, empty all!

O a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, For there Silurian beds abound, The beds that I lo'e best; There's limestone blue, and sandstone too, Wi' slate and shale between.

And he waved his hands to the four airts of heaven, and called us to hearken to the hills shaking themselves to pieces.

We know not in what airt to look for him, for who knows but it may now be afternoon?