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warlocks and witches in a dance. nae cotillion brent new frae France, but hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, put life and mettle in their heels. a winnock-bunker in the east, there sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast; a towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, to gie them music was his charge: he screw’d the pipes and gart them skirl, till roof and rafters a’ did dirl.
from “Tam o’ Shanter” by Robert Burns
Devoted to Elizabeth Dobie-Sarsam and her ancestors. May their memory live on in the pipe’s drone.
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