Page:Loss of the pack.pdf/2



THE

‘Bout-gates I hate, quo' girning Maggy Pringle

Syne harl'd Watty, greeting, thro' the ingle.

Since this fell question seems sae lang to hing on

In twa-three words I‘11 gie ye my opinion.

I wha stand here, in this bare scoury coat,

Was ance a Packman wordy mony a groat:

I‘ve carried Packs as big's your meikle table

I've scarted pats, and sleepet in a stable:

Sax pounds I wadna' for my pack ance ta'en,

And I could bauldly brag ‘twas a' mine ain.

Ay! thae were days indeed, that gart me hope

Aiblins, thro' time, to warsle up a shop:

And as a wife aye in my noddle ran

I kend my Kate wad grapple at me than.

O Kate was past compare! sic cheeks! sic een!

Sic smiling looks, were never, never seen.

Dear, dear I lo'ed her, and whane'er we met,

Pleaded to have the bridal-day but set: