Page:Dominie depos'd, or, Some reflections on his intrigue with a young lass and what happened thereupon.pdf/5

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For, hark, I’ll tell you what they think, Since I left handling pen an’ ink, Wae worth that weary ſoup o’ drink He lik’d sae weel. He drank it a', left not a clink His throat to ſwill.

He lik’d, still sitting on his doup, To view the pint or cutty ſtoup, And ſometimes lasses overcoup Upo’ their keels; This made the lad at length to loup, And tak his heels.

Then was it net a grand preſumption, To ca’ him Doctor o’ the function? He deal’t too much in barley-unction For his profession: He never took a good injunction. Frae kirk or session.

An’ to attend he was not willing, His school, sae lang’s he had a shilling But lov’d to be where there was filling Good punch or ale; For him to rise was just like killing, Or first to fail.

His fishing wand, his sneeshing-box, A fowling-piece, to shoot muir-cocks. An' hunting hare thro’ craigs and rocks. This was his game, Still left the young anes, so the fox Might worry them.