The Potty Poet ©

Pierre de Chatelard, a young French poet
Wis headin’ for trouble, but he wisnae tae know it
He’d been found by Mary’s chambermaid, all sweaty an’ hot
In Mary’s chamber, beneath her bed, next tae Mary’s chamber pot

He wis banished frae her court, but he didnae take nae heed
An’ he followed as she went tae Rossend Castle
Fu’ o’ passion an’ wi’ port, an’ intent tae plant his seed
The pickled poet wis hopin’ Mary widnae gie him hassle

It wis well efter hauf past nine, an’ Mary’d had a gless o’ wine
An’ the ither Mary thingumyjig, wis helpin’ wi’ her disrobin’
In barged Pierre, an’ his airms roon’ Mary’s middle did entwine
‘It’s the poet, hurry’ It took the Earl o’ Moray, tae stoap the poet’s probin’

They dragged the drunken poet away
Tae a dungeon oan St Andrews Bay
Where his famous last words still cause a row
"They think it’s all over! It is now!"