Maun I tae perish in the keel o’ Heaven,
And is this fratt upon the air the ply
O’ cross-brath’d cordage that in gloffs and gowls
Brak’s up the vision o’ the warld’s bricht gy?

Ship’s tackle and an eemis cairn o’ fraucht
Darker than clamourin’ veins are roond me yet,
A plait o’ shadows thicker than the flesh,
A fank o’ tows that binds me hand and fit.

What gin the gorded fullyery on hie
And a’ the fanerels o’ the michty ship
Gi’e back mair licht than fa’s upon them ev’n
Gin sic black ingangs haud us in their grip?

from A Drunk Man Looks at Throbbing Thistle