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Hesh no, quoth she, though he’sh be lear’d, That ye ken what, they hae crept near’t, Far you an I hash aft-times heard O’ nine or ten, Wha thush the clergy hath beshmear’d Wi’ their ain pen.

The auld mou’d wives thus did me taunt, Though a’ was true, I must needs grant, But ae thing maistly made me faint, Poor Meg lay still, An’ look’d as loesome as a saint That kend nae ill.

Then a’ the giglets young and gaudy, Sware by their sauls, I might be wady, For getting sic a lusty laddy, Sae like mysell; An’ made me blush wi’ speaking baudy, ’Bout what befel.

Thus auld an’ young their verdict had, ’Bout Maggy’s being brought to bed, I thought my fill, yet little said, Or had to say, To reap the fruit o’ sic a trade, On gude-yule day.

What sometimes in the mou' is sweet. Turns litter in the wame ; I grumbled sair to get the geet. At sic a merry time.

PART III. Now Maggy’s twasome in a sween, A counsel held condemns the loon,