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The callings Maggy had sae cleuked, Before young Jack was rightly hooked, They made her twice as little booked, But to gae on, 0 then ! how like a fool I looked, When I saw John.

The Cummer then came to me bent, And gravely, did my son present ; She bade me kiss him, be content, Then wish’d me joy ; An’ tauld it was—what luck had sent, A waly boy.

In ilka member, lith an’ lim’, Its mouth, its nose, its cheeks, its chin, ’Tis a’ like daddy, just like him, His very self, Though it look’d cankered sour and grim, Like ony elf.

Then whisp’ring now to me she harked, Indeed your hips they should be yarked, Nae mair Mess John, nor dare ye Clarkit, Faith ye hae ca’d Your hogs into a bonny markit, Indeed my lad.

But tell me, man, (I should say master,) What muckle deil in your way chas’d her ? Lowns baith ! but I think I hae plac’d her, Now on her side, My coming here has not disgrac’d her, At the Yule-tide.