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3 The ancient Bards, to sknw their skill,

Plac'd Muses on Parnassus O;

But let them fable as they will,

My Muses are the lasses, O.

Fairfa', &c.

The drunkard cries, the joys o' wine

A' ither mirth surpasses, O;

But he ne'er kent the bliss divine,

That I hae wi' the lasses, O.

Fairfa', &c.

When I am wi' the chosen few,

The time fu' quickly passes, O,

But days are hours, and less, I trow,

When I am wi' the lasses, O.

Fairfa', &c.

When joys abound, then let a round

Of overflowing glasses, O,

Gae brisk about, an clean drink out;

The toast be-- 'Bonnie lasses,' O.

Fairfa', &c.

THE FRIEND AND PITCHER.

T wealthy fool with gold in store,

Will still desire to grow the richer;

Give me but these, I ask no more;

My charming girl, my friend and pitcher.