Nor I wadna be a merchant, mither, in his lang furred gown, Trailing strings o' footsore horses through the noisy dusty town; Louting low to knights and ladies, fumbling o'er his wares, Telling lies, and scraping siller, heaping cares on cares.

In the words of an old Scottish song, "Out cam the gudeman, and high he shouted; Out cam the gudewife, and low she louted; And a' the town neighbours were gathered about it: