Page:Dominie deposed, with the sequel.pdf/24

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Some said it was the pith o’ broom, That she stow’d in her masking loom, Which in our heads rais’d sic a foom. Or some wild seed, Which aft the chappen-stoup did toom. But fill’d our head.

But now since ’tis sae that wo must, Not in the best ale put our trust. But when we’re auld return to dust, Without remead; Why should we tak’ it in disgust. Since Maggy’s dead.

O'wardly comforts she rife, An'liv'd a lang and hearty life, Right free o'care,or toil,or strife, Till she was stale; An' kend to be a canny wife At brewing ale.

Then farewell Maggy, douce and fell, O'brewers a' ye bore the bell; Let a' your gossip yelp and yell, An'without feed. Guess whither ye're in heaven or hell, They're sure ye're dead.

FINIS