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

 ( 23 )

Whan we were wearied at the gouff, Then Maggy Simpſon's was our houff, Now a' our gameſters may ſit douff, Wi' hearts like lead, Death wi' his run reach'd her a youff, An' ſae ſhe's dead.

Maun we be forc'd thy ſkill to tine, For which we will right fair repine? Or haſt thou left to bairns o' thine The pauky knack, O' brewing ale amaiſt like wines 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, And muckle ſpeed: Now wae worth death, our ſport's a' loſt, Since Maggy's dead.

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

An' whan the dawn began to glow, I hirſted up my dizzy pow, Frae' mang the corn like worry cow, Wi' banes fu' ſair, An' kend nae mair than if a yow, How I came there.