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Or that his gentle stamock’s master To woory up a pint of plaster, Like our mill knaves that lift the laiding, Whase kytes can rax out like raw plaiding, Swith, roast a hen, or fry some chickens, And send for ale frae Maggy Picken’s.” ‘ Aye, aye,” quoth she, “ ye may weel ken, ’Tis ill brought but that’s no there ben; Whan but last owk, nae farder gane, The laird got a' to pay his kain.” Then James, wha had as good a guess Of what was in the house as Bess, With pawky smile this plea to end. To please himsell, and ease his friend, First open’d with a slee oration His wond’rous skill in conjuration. Said he,—“ By this fell art I’m able To whop aff any great man’s table. Whate’er I like to make a mail o’ Either in part, or yet the hail o’; And, if ye please, I’ll shaw my art.”— Cries Halbert,—“ Faith, with a’ my heart!”- Bess fain’d hersell,—cry’d “ Lord, be here !"- And near hand fell a swoon wi’ fear.