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My wife right cauldrife steed. An’ listen’d at the shutter ; The bairns aye girn’d for bread— They kentna fat was butter.

An’ there I roar’d a sang, Tho’ ebbin’ fast my pocket, Syne i’ the strynd ere lang My siller’s worth I byockit!

An’ gin I fan my wife Aside the Public stanin’, Gin sclafferts was nae rife, Shfe had her share o’ bannin’.

The coppers that she got Was but the Public’s leavins; Had I nae been a sot, I mith ’a had some Savins.

But now I’m out o’ wark, Wi’ credit a sad lack o’, Fat sud hae fill’d my ark, Was war’d on drink an’ ’bacco.

Then shut ilk Public House, Frae Causey-En’ to Futtie; Let Indignation loose To crush baith stoup an’ cuttie.

Sae prays my “ achin’ void,”— Foul fa’ tobacco-spinners; Soon ’mo the Unemploy’d Be Publicans an’ Sinners!