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Canto IV. And yet forſooth, ye girn and grumble,

And with a gab unthankfu' mumble

Out mony a black unworthy curſe,

When Roſie bids you draw your purſe;

When ſhe's ſae gen'rouſly content,

With not aboon thirty per cent.

Briſtle. Damn you and her! tho' now I'm blae,

I'm hopefu' yet to ſee the day,

I'll gar you baith repent that e'er

Ye reav'd by force awa' my gear,

Without, or thanks, or making price,

Or ever ſpeering my advice.

Jouk. Peace Gouk, we naething do at a',

But by the letter of the law,

Then nae mair wi' your din torment us,

Growling like ane non compos mentis,

Elſe Roſie iſſue may a writ,

To tye ye up baith hand and fit,

And dungeon ye, but meat or drink,

Till ye be ſtarv'd and die in ſtink.

Bard. Thus Jouk and Briſtle, when they met,

With ſic braw language ither treat.

Juſt fury glows in Briſtle's veins:

And though his Bonnet he retains,

Yet on his creſt he may not cock it,

But in a coffer cloſe maun lock it.

Bare-headed, thus he e'en knocks under,

And let's them drive away the plunder,

Sae hae I ſeen beſide a tower,

The King o' brutes oblig'd to cour;

And, on his royal paunches thole,

A dwarf to prob him with a pole!