Page:Hark away.pdf/7

 The foremost ox fell in a fur,

The other’s then did founder,

The plowman lad he breathless grew.

In troth it was nae wonder.

Then up wi’t a’,

Plowing once upon a hill,

Below there was a stane, O,

Which gard the fire flee frae the sock,

The plowman gied a grane, O.

Then up wi’t

‘Tis I have tilled meikle ground,

I’ve plowed faugh and fallow,

He that will not drink the plowman’s health,

Is but a saucy fellow.

Then up wi’t a’, &.c.

This very morning, handy,

My malady was such,

I in my tea took brandy,

And took a cup too much,

(Hickups) tol de rol.

But stop, I musn’t mag hard,

My head aches, if you please,