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4 Noise and clatter,—What's the matter?

Holla, fellow—You are mellow,

Fine to do,—don’t you see,

Why, zounds—I'm the Beadle of the Parish.

I’m an officer, don't laugh,

But indeed I'm on the staff,

And all sax I do pretty fairish;

On a Sunday strut about,

And I keep the rabble out,

The Church-wardens march before.

Just to open the pew door,

Because I am Beadle of the Parish.

Puff away,merry day,

Drink about,See it out,

There will besnacks for me,

Because I'm the Beadle of the Parish.

O! My lassie, our joy to complete again,

Meet me again in the gloamin, my dearie:

Low down i’ the dell let us meet again,

O! Jeanie there’s naething to fear ye:

Come when the wee bat flits silent an’ eerie:

Come when the pale face o’ nature looks weary

Love be thy sure defence,

Beauty and innocence—

O, Jeanie, there’s naething to fear.