Page:Little taylor's wedding.pdf/3

 Crying, O! what will come o' me, And, O! what will I do then, My mither has naething to gi'e me, And my maidenhead's out in a lend. Will Downie the weaver came to me, He wanted a lend of the ſame, But I ſaid he ſhould not have it, Till once he had made me his ain: Alas, that he has been thrice burnt, It's time now her buttocks to claw, She'll ſurely be war of the fourth, If ſhe mind any fortune at a'. Now the tailor bobb'd round i' the ring, But, O! he was ſhort in the ſhanks, And as he came kiſsing the maids, His mouth ſcarce came to their flanks, Some was right lowerdly looting, And ſo was lang Meg of the moſs, She ſet up her bum to the wa', And ſtretch'd out her neck like a gooſe, Crying, O, what will come o' me, And, O, what will do then, If I bow ſo low to a tailor, For I'm ſure I m no kiſt by a man. But the tailor let glaum at her puſſy, And made her to ſqueak like a cat, And as ſhe bow'd down to defend him, He kiſt her, ſhe ſluag and ſhe ſlet; And O as he cracket and ſmacket, And hang by his paws at her neck, Till a' in the ring fell a-laughing: The fiddler the ſpring be did ſtick, Cryin O, what what will come o' me For I can play up nae mair,