Nigh the brig I drove a bonny shot,
My second was the marrow o't,
The third gaed in—I holed in three,
As proud as Punch, I skirled wi' glee;
And swaggerin' fou, and fit and fettle,
Was wild to back my skill and mettle;
And, madlike, shouted out aloud,
You might hae heard me doon the road,
'Od! I'd play the very Deil himsel',
Auld Nickey Ben, red wud frae H—l.'
I heard a laugh! Was I mistaen?
I thocht I was my lief alane,
But turnin', near me stood a man,
A strappin' chiel, wi' clubs in han',—
Lean-shankit, extra tall and spare,
Wi' goatee beard and jet-black hair.
'Good evening, Skipper,' says he sprightly,
Liftin' his cap to me politely.
'You want a match, I'll gladly play you
For a hundred pounds, what say you?'
'You do me proud,' says I, astounded,
My wits had left me quite confounded.
'Man, a hundred pounds, I hae nae got,
I'm but a Caddie, poor my lot;
To play you I am proud and willin',
But I ne'er gang beyond a shillin'.'
'Oh, d—m your shilling!' says he so fine,
'Why, don't you see, your sure to win—
You are a strong, well-known professional,
And play a game that's quite sensational;
While my performance is but poor,
That of a first-class amateur.
But player good, I stand confessed,
Who plays 'gainst me must play his best.
But if you're shy, why odds I'll give you,
A stroke a hole, will that not tempt you?
And should I have the luck to win
(He said this with a leering grin),
Why what so simple, you engage
To serve me faithful without wage,
And as my Caddie with me stay
Until your little debt you pay.
Service with me will never tire you,
Besides I like you and admire you.'
Softly he spoke, while sweetly smilin'
Like lover simple lass beguilin';
Then from his pooch a purse he pulled,
A purse with golden guineas filled;
The meshes thro' I saw them bright
Glitterin' in the gloamin' light.
'Look, Skipper see these yellow boys,
The source and fount of human joys;
With them you grasp the dear delights
Of festive days and glorious nights.'

Dazed, dazzled, fou, and half-demented,
Oh, Jocky! I was sairly tempted.
No wonder that I soon consented,
And muckle less that I repented.
But to my tale—'All right,' says I,
'A bargain be it, I comply;
A stroke a hole—I tak' your offer,
Altho' you treat me like a duffer.'
For troth I felt no little nettled
To find my good game so belittled.

But, Skipper, you have yet to tell
What he was like, this bloomin' swell.

I said he was a strappin' chiel,
Six feet and mair frae head to heel;
On's head he wore a Hieland bannet,
A blackcock's feather stickin' in it.
On either side his lugs I noted
Were large and high and sharply nookit;
A nose like mine, and fine black een,
A big moustache and pointed chin;
In troth a very handsome felley,
Though black-a-vized and somewhat yelley,
Like they foreign chaps that gang wi' puggies,
And play on pipes and hurdy-gurdies.
His dress was black, good velveteen,
His stockin's red and cravit green,
And on his feet were yellow boots,—
I little dreamed they covered cloots!
I kent na wha I was to play wi',
The truth it never dawned upon me;
I thocht he was some Glasgow billy,
Or chap frae Sooth, Golf-mad and silly,
Wi' little wit and siller plenty,
The country's rife wi' sic like gentry.

'And what's your honour's name,' quoth I?
I felt no whit abashed or shy—
'My name is Dr Nicholas Ben Clootie,
Hades my home, a place of radiant beauty;
A region warm, perhaps a trifle sooty,
Still an alluring and delicious place is Hades,
Frequented much by lords and ladies.
So charming and so pleasant is it
That multitudes to Paradise prefer it.'
'Hades, ne'er heard o't, is't in the Hielands?'
'No, Skipper friend, 'tis in the Netherlands.'
'But come, our game, I'm eager to begin;
Strike off,' said I, 'I long those yellow boys to win.
Tak' you the honour noo, for ne'er again
You'll hae the chance, or I'm sair mistaen.'
He grinned, and said, 'You hold me very cheap;
Believe me, I intend those yellow boys to keep.'

He drove a rattlin' shot from off the tee;
I followed with as good, as far as he.
Our next we dropped upon the green.
Twa bonny strokes as e'er were seen.
Stane dead I lay, he ten feet aff,
He missed his putt—wi' careless laugh,
'First blood,' cried I, 'the hole is mine.'
'Yes,' quo' he, 'the Devil's luck is thine.'

So cocky was I with this fine beginnin',
I offered straight to play him even.
'No, no,' he said, 'to that I can't agree,
You'll need your odds before you've done wi' me.'
He looked and said this with a wicked leer,
I felt my flesh to creep with sudden fear.
Such confidence and pluck, I could not understand,
And funkit something strange, uncanny, underhand.

But spite of funk and fancy, all the same
I played weel up a rattlin' game;
Holes three and four they fell to