Page:Dominie depos'd, or, Some reflections on his intrigue with a young lass.pdf/24

( 24 ) Some ſaid it was the pith o' broom, That ſhe ſtow'd in her maſking loom, Which in our heads rais'd fic a ſoom, Or ſome wild feed, Which aft the chappen-ſtoup did toom, But fill d our head.

But now ſince 'tis fae that we muſt Not in the beſt ale put our truſt, But when we're auld return to duſt, Without remead, Why ſhould we tak it in diſguſt Since Maggy's dead?

O' warldly comforts ſhe was rife, An' liv'd a lang an' hearty life, Right free o care, or toil or ſtrife, Till ſhe was ſtale; An' kend to be a canny wife At brewing ale.

Then fareweel Maggy dowſe an fell, O' brewers a' you bore the bell; Let a' your goſſips yelp an' yell, An without fead, Gueſs whither ye're in heav'n or hell, They're ſure ye're dead.

EPITAPH.

O RARE MAGGY SIMPSON.

FINIS.