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Thrummy him thank'd, an' syne his gowd Intil a muckle purse he stowed, An' scram'd it in his oxter-pouch, And syne sought out his aiken crutch : Said, fare.ye-weel, I maun awa, An' see gin I get through the snaw. Weel, fare-ye-weel, replied the Laird : How comes it ye ha' na shared, Or gi'en your nei'bour of the money? Na, by my saul, I, Sir, quo' Thrummy, When I the siller, Sir, did win, To had done this wad been a sin. Afore that I the Ghaist had laid, The nesty beast hadthe bed. And sae my tale I here do end, I hope no one it will offend; My muse will na' assist me langer, The dorty jade sometimes does anger. I thought her ance a gay smart lass, But now she's come to such a pass, That as my cudgelling and wheeping, Will hardly wake her out of sleeping, To plague her mair I winna try, But dight my pen and lay it by.

Y o u n g W h i p - S t i t c h,

A L O N D O N  T A I L O R 'S  S O N.

A London Taiior, as 'tis said, By buckram, canvas, tape, an' thread,