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23 That done, they bae nae mair to say.

And scarcely ken him the next day.

Poor fellow now this mony a year,

Wi' some faint hops and routh o fear,

He has been wrestin wi' hie fate.

A drudge to Jokcum and his mate ,

While Briste saves his manly look,

Regardless baith o Rose and Jouk :

Maintains right quietly 'yont the cairns.

His honor, conscience, wife and bairns;

Jouk and his rumelgary wife.

Drive on a drunken gaming life.

Cause seber they can get nae rest.

For Nick, and Duniwhistle's Ghaist,

Wha in the garrets often toolk,

And shore them with a bloody gully.

Thus I have sung in hamlet rhyme,

A sang that scorns the teeth o‘ time,

Yet modestly I hide my name,

Admiring virtue mair than fame:

But tent ye wha despise instruction,

And gie my wark a wrang construction,

Frae 'hiud the curtain mind I tell ye,

I‘ll shoot a satire through your belly,

But wha wi' havins jees his bonnet,

And says, Thanks t'ye for your Sonnet,

Ye shanna want the praises due,

To generosity. Adieu,

FINIS.