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And whenever we forgathered, He took off his wee three-cockit, And he proffered you his snuff-box, Which he drew from his side pocket, And on Burdett or Buonaparte, He would make a remark or so, And then along the plainstones Like a provost he would go.

Our Mr. Poole, he to whom my uncle Rob had given such a stamp, was not the partner in the ancient firm of Smart, Poole and Smart of the Plainstones.

As it appeared, he had only known the safe plainstones of Dumfries—so at least Mary Lyon thought.

He has never ventured beyond the Plainstones of Dumfries on a cattle-fair day.

And whenever we forgather'd, He took off his wee three-cockit; And he proffer'd you his snuff-box, Which he drew from his side-pocket; And on Burdett or Bonaparte He would make a remark or so, And then along the plainstones Like a provost he would go.