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Young Jack wi’ skirls he pierc’d the skies, I pray’d that death might close his eyes, But did not meet with that surprise, To my regret, Sae had nae help, but up an’ cries Het drinks to get.

This laid their din ; the drink was stale. An’ to’t they gaed wi’ tooth an’ nail, An’ wives whase rotten tusks did fail Wi’ bread an’ cheese, They birl’d fu’ fast at butter’d ale. To gie them ease.

They ca’ upon me, then dadda. Come, tune your fiddle, play us a Jigg or hornpipe, nae mair SOL FA, My bonny cock ; The kirk an’ you maun pluck a craw About young Jock.

Play up, Sae merry as we hae been, Or, Wat ye wha we met yestreen. Or, Lass will ye lend me your leam ? Or, Soups o’ brandy. Or, Gin the kirk wad let’s alane, Or, Houghmagandy.

Sic tunes as these, yea, three or four. They call’d for, ill mat they cour, Play, cries the cummer, wi’ a glour, The wanton toudy, Wha’ did the Dominie ding o’er, Just heels o’er goudy.