|How do ye expect,| said Sandy, |ever to be happy, or strong, or a man at a', as long as ye go on only looking to enjoy yersel --
yersel? Mony was the year I looked for nought but my ain pleasure, and got it too, when it was a'
|'Sandy Mackaye, bonny Sandy Mackaye,
There he sits singing the lang simmer day;
Lassies gae to him,
And kiss him, and woo him --
Na bird is so merry as Sandy Mackaye.'
An' muckle good cam' o't. Ye may fancy I'm talking like a sour, disappointed auld carle. But I tell ye nay. I've got that's worth living for, though I am downhearted at times, and fancy a's wrong, and there's na hope for us on earth, we be a' sic liars -- a' liars, I think -- I'm a great liar often mysel, especially when I'm praying.|
Alton Locke, chap. vii.