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 The lasses had stenched their greening With fouth of braw apples and beer. There was Lillie, and Tibbie, and Sibbie, And Ceicy on the spindle could spin, Stood glowring at signs and glass winwocks, But deil a lad bade them come in.

Gude guide's! saw ye ever the like o't? See yonder's a bonny black swan; It glowrs as it fain wad be at us, What's yon that it hauds in its han'! Awa, daft gowk, cries Wattie, They're a' but a rickle of sticks; See there is Bill, Jock, and auld Hauckie, And yonder's Mess John and Auld Nick.

Quo' Maggie, Come buy us our fairing, To Wattie, wha sleely could tell, I think thou'rt the flower on the clachan, In troth now I'se gie you mysel'. But wha wad e'er thought it of him, That e'er he had rippled the lint? Sae proud was he of his Maggie, Though she did baith scailie and squint.

As walking forth to view the plain, Upon a morning early,