The tailor lad, lang fam'd for fleas,
Sits here and maks and mends the claes ;
And vow the swankies like to teaze

Him wi' their mocks, The women cry,

• He's ill to please,".

And crack their jokes.

But he's a slee and cunnin' loun,
And taunts again ilk jeerin' clown ;
For, tho' no bred in borrows town,

He's wondrous gabby, And fouth oʻ wit comes frae his crown,

Tho' he be shabby.

Auld farrant tales he skreeds awa',
And ca's their lear but clippings a'.
And bids them gang to Thimble-ha',

Wi' needle speed,
And there learn wit without a flaw,

Frae the board-head.

Auld luckie says they're in a creel,
And redds them up, I trow, fu' weel,
Cries, “ Lasses, occupy your wheel,

" And strait the pin;" And bids the tailor haste and dreel

Wi' little din.

XVI. Quo' she, “ Ye've meikle need to sew : “O ! times are sairly alter'd now! “ For two-pence was the wage, I trow,

66 To

; “ But now-a-days ye crook your mou',

« To seek a groat.”

ony Scot

XVII. The colly dog lies i' the nook, The place whilk auld brown birkie took, And aft toward the door does look,

With aspect crouse ; For unco' fouk he canna brook

Within the house.

Here bawdrins sit, and cocks her head,
And smooths her coat o'nature's weed,
And purs contentedly indeed,

And looks fu’ lang, To see gin fowk be takin heed

To her braw sang.

The auld gudewife, wha kens her best,
Behads her wash her face and breast;
Syne honest luckie does protest

That rain we'll hae, Or on-ding o' some kind at least,

Afore't be day.

To her remarks lists ilka lass,
And what she


aft comes to pass, Altho' she has nae chymic mass

To weigh the air ; For pussy's grannum's weather-glass

I do declare.

XXI. Nae sooner has auld luckie done, Nor Meg cries she'll wad baith her shoon, That we sall hae weet very soon,

And weather rough ; For she saw round about the moon

A meikle brough.

Aft times the canty lilt gaes round,
And ilka face wi' mirth is crown'd,
And whiles they sing in safter sound,

Sic as the swain
Of Yarrow, or, some lover drown'd

In ruthless main.

XXIII. O! royal tales gae brawly on, And feats of fowk that's dead and gone, The windy piper sounds his drone,

As weel he can ; And aft they speak o' their Mess John,

That haly man.

They banish hence a' care and dool,
For they were bred at mirthfu' school;
They count how lang it is to Yule,

Wi' pleasure vast ;
And tell wha sat the cutty stool

On Sabbath last.

The chapman lad, wi' gab sae free,
Comes in and mixes i' the glee,
After he's trampet out the e'e

O’mony dub,
And gotten frae the blast to dree

A hearty drub.

XXVI. He says he did Auld Reekie ca', To bring them things to mak' them braw, And got them free o' crack and flaw,

And patterns rare: The proverb says, “ Fowls far awa'

“ Hae feathers fair."

He tells them he's weel sorted now
Of a' thing gude, and cheap, and new
His sleekit speeches pass for true

With ane and a'; The pedlars ken fu' weel the cue

O’ Farmer's Ha'.

XXVIII. He hads his trinkets to the light, And speirs what they're to buy the-night ; Syne a' the lasses loup bawk height

Wi' perfect joy, 'Cause lads for them coff broach sae bright,

Or shining toy.

XXIX. They finger at the trantlims lang, But whan they're bargaining right thrang, In does the gauger quickly bang,

Wi' visage awfu', In quest o' some forbidden fang,

Or goods unlawfu'.

He says, his information's close,
And bids them therefore no be cross,
Or else they'll find it to their loss,

And skaith nae sma', For he'll their doors to flinders toss,

And stand the law.

Ben the gudeman comes wi' a spang,
And says, “ Ye're short to be sae lang,
“ But think-nae, billy, ye're to dwang

« Fowk wi' a sham, « For save ye shaw your warrant, gang

“ The gate ye cam'."

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