Page:Four funny tales.pdf/14



Down he threw his ſtaff victorious;
 * aff gaed bonnet, claes, and ſhoon;

Syne below the blankets, glorious;
 * held anither.

BOUTGATES I hate, quo' girning Maggy Pringle, Syne harld Watty, greeting, thro' the ingle. Since this fell queſtion ſeems fae lang to hing on, In twa three words I'll gie ye my opinion.

I wha and here, in this bare fcoury coat, Was ance a Packman, word, mony a groat: I've carried packs as big's your meikle table; I've ſcarted pats, and ſleepit in a ſtable: Sax pounds I wadna for my pack ance ta'en, And I could bauldly brag 'twas a' mine ain.

Aye! thae war days indeed, that gart me hope, Aeblins, thro' time, to' warfle up a ſhop: And as a wife ay in my noddle ran, I kend my Kate wad grapple at me than. O Kate was paſt compare! fic cheeks! ſic een! Sic ſmiling look! were never, never ſeen. Dear, dear I lo'ed her, and whane'er we met, Pleaded to have the bridal day but ſet; Stapped her pouches fa' o'preens and laces, And thought myſel' weel paid wi' twa-three kiſſes: