Page:Four funny tales.pdf/2



WHEN chapman billies leave the ſtreet, And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, As market days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate; While we fit bouſing at the nappy, An' getting fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The moſſes, waters, ſlaps, and ſtyles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare fits our ſulky ſullen dame, Gath'ring her brows like gath’ring form, Nurſing her wrath to keep it warm

This truth ſand honeſt Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Air ae night did canter, (Auld Air wham ne'er a town ſurpaſſes, For honeſt men and bonny laſſes)

O Tam! hadſt thou but been ſae wife, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a ſkellum, A blethering, bluſtering, drunken blellum; That frae November till October,