Classic Poem

Gae buckle your belt in your ain gude gate,
Gae draw your sword in your ain just cause;
But sit ye steeve in your saddle seat,
For he rides sicker wha never fa's.
Gae gird ye in armour gleamin' bricht,
And see that your harness be free frae flaws;
Ye may shaw your skill as a daurin' knicht,
But he rides sicker wha never fa's.

Then ride ye furth to the battle plain,
An' seek for fame whaur the trumpet blaws;
Ye may prove to yersell that match ye've nane;
But he rides sicker wha never fa's.
But gin ye're unhorsed by a stronger loon,
An' 'mang your girthing lie heads an' thraws,
Ye'll aiblins think o' the auld warld croon,
That he rides sicker wha never fa's.