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But maks na ; now it's got a sweel ;
Ae gird I shanna cast, lad ! Or, else, I wish the horned deil May Will wi' kittle cast dad
To h-ll the day!
The magistrates fu' wylie are;
Their lamps are gayly blinkin;
Whan fouk's blind-fou' wi' drinkin..
The foul ane durst him na-say! He took shanks-naig ; but, fient may care; He arslins kiss'd the cawsey
Wi' bir that night
Weel loes me o' you, souter Jock
For tricks ye buit be tryin : Whan grapin for his ain bed-stock,
He fa's whare Will's wife's lyin,
Will, comin hame wi' ither fouk,
He saw Jock there before him ;
Fu' strang that night.
Then wi' a souple leathern whang
He gart them fidge and girn ay : " Faith, chiel ! ye's no for naething gang,
“ Gin ye maun reel my pirny." Syne, wi' a muckle elehin lang
He brodit Maggie's hurdies ;
'Tween them that night.
Now, had some laird his lady fand
In sic unseemly courses,
Wi' law-suits and divorces :
But the niest day, they a' shook hands,
And ilka crack did sowder,
Whan fou' last night.
Glowr round the cawsey, up and down,
What mobbing and what plotting !
Against his saul for voting.
Thir blades lug out to try them,
Exact that day,
Then Deacons at the counsel stent
To get themsel's presentit :
For the town's gude indentit:
Lang's their debating thereanent,'
About protests they're bauthrin; While Sandy Fife, to mak content, On bells plays,
« Clout the Caudron," To them that day.
Ye lowns that troke in doctor's stuff,
You'll now hae unco slaisters; Whan windy blaws their stamacks puff, ".
They'll need baith pills and plaisters : For tho' e'en-now they look right bluff,
Sic drinks, ere hillocks meet, Will hap some deacons in a truff, Inrow'd i' the lang leet
O death yon night. %.
WANWORDY, crazy, dinsome thing,
They ken themsel',
Waur sounds frae h-u.
What deil are ye? that I shou'd bann,
But weel may gie
· Than stroke o' thee.