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Nunc est bibendum, et bendere Bickerum magnum; Cavete Town-Guardum, DG-dim
REJOICE, ye" Burghers !'ane and a';
Lang look't for's come at last :
Wi' poortith and wi' fast.
And gayly busk ilk feather,
Wi' drink thir days.
Haste, Epps ! quo' John, and bring my giz;
dinna't spulzie: Last night the barber gae't a friz;
And straikit it wi' ulzie.
Hae done your parritch, lassie Liz!
Gie me my sark and gravat; I'se be as braw's the deacon is, Whan he taks affidavit
O' faith the day.
• Whare's Johnny gaun (cries neebour Bess),
“ That he's sae gayly bodin, “ Wi' new-kam'd wig, weel syndet face,
“ Silk hose, for hamely hodin ?” Our Johnny's nae sma drink, you'll guess;
He's trig as ony muircock, 6 And forth to mak a deacon, lass; • He downa speak to poor fouk
Like us the day.'
The coat, ben-by i' the kist-nook,
That's been this towmonth swarmin, Is brought aince mair thereout to look,
To fleg awa the vermin.
Menzies o' moths and flaes are shook,
And i' the floor they howder, Till, in a birn, beneath the crook, They're singit wi' a scowder
To death that day.
The canty cobler quats his sta',
His roset and his lingans ja
Frae meals o' bread and ingans.
And taunts at soles and heels;
Wi' life that day.
The lads, in order tak their seat ;
(The deil may claw the clungest!) They stech and connach sae the meat,
Their teeth mak mair than tongue haste. VOL II.
Their claes sae cleanly tight and feat,
And-eke their craw-black beavers, Like masters mows hae fund the gate To tassels teugh wi slavers
Fu’lang that day.
The dinner done,--for brandy strang
They cry, to weet their thrapple; To gar
the stamack bide the bang, Nor wi' its ladin grapple. The grace
is said ;—it's nae owre lang :The claret reams in bells ; Quo' Deacon, “ Let the toast round gang: « Come, Here's our Noble Sels
“ Weel met the day!"
Weels me o drink, quo cooper Will,
My barrel has been geyz'd ay, And has na gotten sic a fill,
Sin fou on Hansel-Teysday: