Page:Dominie depos'd, or, Some reflections on his intrigue with a young lass.pdf/23

( 23 ) Whan we were wearied at the goun Then Maggy Simpſon's was our houff, Now a' our gameſters may fit douff Wi hearts like lead, Death wi' his rung reach d' her a youff, An fae ſhe's dead.

Maun we be forc'd thy fill to tine. For which we will right fair rep e? Or halt thou left to bairns a' thine The pauky knack O brewing ale amaiſt like wine That gar d us crack?

Sae brawly did a peaſe-ſcone toſt, Biz i' the quaff and flee the froſt, There we gat fu' wi little coſt. An' muckle ſpeed; Now waeworth death our ſports at loſt, Since Maggy's dead.

Ae ſimmer-night I was fae fu', Amang the riggs I gaed to ſpew, Syne down on a green bank. I trow, I took a nap. An' fought a night Balillilu, As found's a tap.

An' whan the dawn began to glow, I hirſled up my dizzy pow, rae 'mang the corn like worry kow, Wi' banes ſu' fair, An' kend nae mair than if a yow, How I came there.