My name is Funyour cronie dear, The nearest friend ye hae; An'this is Superstition here, An'that's Hypocrisy.

Ae market-night Tam had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, His ancient, trusty, drouthy cronie: Tam lo'ed him like a very brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither.