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The bride was now laid in her bed, her left leg he was ſlung; And Geordy Gib was fidging glad, becauſe it hit Jean Gun: She was his ſo, and aft ſaid, Fy, Geordy haud your tongue, Ye's ne'er get me to be your bride, but chang'd her mind when bung, That very day. Tehee, quoth Touſie, when the ſaw the cathel coming ben, It piping het gaed round them a', the bride ſhe made a fen To ſit in wylicoat ſae braw, upon her nether en; Her lad like on cock did craw, that meets a cocklin ben, And blyth' were they.

The Souter, Miller, Smith and Dick Lawrie and Hutcheon bauld, Carles that keep na very ſtrict be hours, tho' they were auld; Nor could they e'er leave aff that trick, but where good ale was ſald, They drank a' night, e en tho' Auld Nick ſhould tempt their wives to scald Them for't neiſt day.