[…] I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton’s bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Larry is not good at a slow tune, or chune as he calls it, but he comes out strong in jigs, strathspeys, and reels, and he whacked off Tullochgorum, Killiecrankie, and the Braes o' Tullymet and Mar, not to mention Garryowen and the Pradhestan Bhoys, and Saint Pathrick's Day and Boyne Water, with inconceivable vim and vigour.

What mister-chance hath brought thee to the field Without thy sheepe?

Which is the boaster, the strutter, the bedizener of his sinful carcase with feathers and beads, fox-tails and bears' claws,--the brave, or his poor little squaw?