Page:Four merry tales.pdf/14

 ( 14 ) The laird, at this, was fidgin fain, That he had gat his right again; And fifty guit eas down did tell, Beſides a preſent frae himſell. Thrummy him thank'd an ſyne his gowd Intill a mickle purſe he ſtow'd ; An' cratem it in his oxer pouch, An' ſyne fough out his arken crutch; Says. " Care ve wril, larun awa' An' fegin I get through the fa'- Weel fre ve well replied the laird, But how comes it ye hanno thard Or gi'en your neiper o' the money - “Na, by my full. Sir. quo' hrumniy, When I tha filler, Sit di win, (To had in this wad be a ſin Afore that the ghaiſt had laid. The naty beaſt had the bed. An' fae my tale I here cond; I hope no one it will offend. My muſe will mataht me langer, The dorty jade ſometimes does anger. I thou ht her ance a gy ſmart laſs, But now ſhe's come to ſic a paſs, That a my cudgelling an' we ping, Will hardly wake her out of 8.ping: To pl guehst nair I winna try, But dight my pen end lay it by.

WHIP STITCH, A LONDON TAYLOR'S SON. London Taylor, (as 'tis ſaid.) By buckram, canvaſs, tape and thread,