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But maks na; now it's got a sweel ;
Or, else, I wish the horned deil
To h-ll the day!
The magistrates fu' wylie are;
But they might as lieve burn elsewhere,
Our Deacon wadna ca' a chair ;
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
Will, comin hame wi' ither fouk,
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;
And 'cause he thought her i' the wrang,
There pass'd nae bonnie wordies
"Tween them that night.
Now, had some laird his lady fand
It might hae lows'd the haly band,
But the niest day, they a' shook hands,
While Meg for drink her apron pawns,
Whan fou' last night.
Glowr round the cawsey, up and down, What mobbing and what plotting! Here politicians bribe a lown
Against his saul for voting.
The gowd that inlakes half a crown
They pouch the gowd, nor fash the town
Then Deacons at the counsel stent
To get themsel's presentit :
For towmonths twa their saul is lent,
For the town's gude indentit:
Lang's their debating thereanent,
About protests they're bauthrin;
While Sandy Fife, to mak content,
Ye lowns that troke in doctor's stuff,
Whan windy blaws their stamacks puff,
Will hap some deacons in a truff,
Inrow'd i' the lang leet
O' death yon night.
WANWORDY, crazy, dinsome thing,
As e'er was fram'd to jow or ring,
They ken themsel',
But weel wat I they cou'dna bring
Waur sounds frae h-ll.
What deil are ye? that I shou'd bann,
Your neither kin to pat nor pan,
Nor ulzie pig, nor maister cann,
But weel may gie
Mair pleasure to the ear o' man
Than stroke o' thee.