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 O hooly, hooly wi’ me, Sir, ye’ll waken

our good man.

The beggar was a cunnin loon and ne‘er

a word he spak,

Until he got his turn done, syne he be-

gan to crack.

Is there ony dogs in so this town? mai-

den, tell me true.

And what wad ye do wi’ them, my hin-

ny and my dow?

They‘ll rive a‘ my meal pocks, and do

me meikle wrang,

O dool for the doing o‘t, are ye the poor

man?

Then she took up the meal pocks and

flang them o‘er the wa‘,

The deil gae wi‘ your meal pocks, m‘

maidenhead’s awa.

I took ye for some gentleman, at least

the Laird o‘ Brodie;

O dool for the doing o‘t, are ye the

poor bodie?