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Bard. The famous jilt of Paleſtine, Thus drew the hooks o'er Samſon's een, And gart him tell where lay his ſtrength, Of which ſhe twin'd him at the length, Then gied him up in chains to rave, And labour like a galley ſlave: But Roſie, mind, when growing hair, His loſs of pith 'gan to repair, He made of thouſands an example, By cruſhing them beneath their temple.

Bard. The ſupper ſowin-cogs and bannocks, Stood cooling on the ſoles of winnocks, And, cracking at the weſtlin gavels, The wives ſat beeking of their navels, When Jouk his brither Briſtle found, Fetching his ev'ning wauk around A ſcore of ploughmen of his ain, Who blythly whiſtled on the plain. Jouk three times congee'd, Briſtle anes, Then ſhook his hand, and thus begins. Briſtle. Wow, brither Jouk, where hae y been? I ſcarce can trow my looking een, Ye're grown fae braw: now weirds defend me, Gin that I had nae maiſt miſkend ye, And where gat ye that braw blue ſtringing, That's at your houghs and ſhoulders hinging ? Ye