Page:Polly privateer (2).pdf/6

 Whene'er the totums cry for meat,

She curses ay his cogie:

Crying “Wae betide the three-gird cog!

“Oh, wae bețide the cogie!

“It does mair skaith than a' the ills

“That happen in Stra'bogie."

She fand him ance at Willie Sharp's,

And what they maist did laugh at,

She brake the bicker, spilt the drink,

And tightly gowff'd his haffet:

Crying “Wae betide the three-gird cog!

“Oh, wae betide the cogie;

“It does mair skaith than a' the ills

“That happen in Stra'bogie."

Yet here's to ilka honest soul,

Wha'll drink wi' me a cogie;

And for ilk silly whingin fool,

We'll duck him in the bogie.

For I maun hae my cogie, Sirs,

I canna want my cogie;

I wadna gie my three-gird cog

For a' the queens in Bogie.

IN sweet Tipperary, the pride of the throng,

I have danc'd a good jig and have sung a good song;

On the green where I caper'd I scarce bent the grass,

То my bottle a friend, and no foe to a lass: