Page:Dominie deposed, with the sequel.pdf/23

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

Maun we he forc’d thy skill to tine. For which we will right sair repine ? Or hast thou left to bairns o’ thine, The pauky knack, O brewing ale amaist like wine. That gar’d us crack ?

Sae brawly did a pease-scon toast, Biz i’ the quaff, and flee the frost, There we gat fu’ wi’ little cost, An’ muckle speed ; Now wae worth death, our sport’s a’ lost, Since Maggy’s dead.

Ae summer night I was sae fu’, the riggs I gaed to spew, Syne down on a green bank I trow, I took a nap, sought a night balillilu. As soun’s a tap.

whan the dawn began to glow, hirsled up my dizzy pow, ’mang the corn like worry-kow, Wi’ banes fu’ sair, kend nae mair than if a yow, How I came there.