Page:Hawking wench, or, Gowf my logie.pdf/2



F modest maids in single weeds,
 * I've nothing for to say man.

But ’gainst the game of hawking wench,
 * I'll tell you and you’ll flay man.

Chor. And ye bulk sae bra' lassie,
 * and ye busk sae bra'.

The lads will crack your maidenhead,
 * and that's against the law.

I view them ast come to the church,
 * with meal upon their hair man;

Whom I have seen in former times,
 * with back and buttocks bare man:

O do not look so high lassie,
 * O do not look so high,

You'll mind your mither was but poor,
 * though now you drink your tea.

Those dirty maids come to the church,
 * holding their mouths so mim man.

Like riddle-rims their tails go round,
 * fine coats stript in the loom man.

O vow but ye be vogie lassie,
 * O vow but ye be vogie,

Ye’re proud to wear that whorelike coat,
 * its name is GOWF MY LOGIE.

I laugh to fee them come to fairs,
 * with whalebone flays it's queer man,

So foolishly they are primpt up,
 * like funks upon a mare man.