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Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him,
She ran wi' speed : , A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him,
Than Mailie dead.
I wat she was a sheep o' sense,
An' could behave herfel wil mense :
I'll say't she never brak a fence,
Thro thievish greed.
Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the Spence
Sin' Mailie's dead.
Or, if he wanders up the howe,
For bits o' bread,
She was nae get o' moorland tips,
Frae yont the Tweed:
A bonier fleesb ne'er cross'd the clips
Than Mailie's dead.
WAE worth the man wha firft did shape
Wr chokin dread;
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape
For Mailie dead.
O, A' ye Bards on bonie Doon!
O' Robin's reed !
His heart will never get aboon!
His Mailie's dead !
DEAR S****, the sleeest, paukie thief,
That e'er attempted stealth or rief:
Owre human hearts; For ne'er a bosom yet was prief
Against your arts.
I swear by fun an' moon,
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon,
Ye've cost me twenty pair o'fhoon
Just gaun to see you ;
And ev'ry ither pair that's done,
Mair taen I'm wi' you.
THAT auld, capricious carlin, Nature, To mak amends for scrimpet stature, She's turn'd you off, a human creature
On her first plan,
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature,
She's wrote, the Man.
Just now I've taen the fit o’rhyme, My barmie noddle's working prime, My fancy yerkit up sublime
Wi' hafty fummon: Hae ye a leisure-moment's time,
To hear what's comin?
SOME rhyme a neebor's name to lalh ; Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash; VOL. I. M
Some rhyme to court the countra clash,
An' raise a din;
For me, an aim I never fash;
I rhyme for fun.
The star that rnles my luckless lot,
Has fated me the russet coat,
An' damn'd my fortune to the groat;
But, in requit,
Has bleft me with a random shot
This while my notions taen a sklent, To try my fate in guid black prent;
But still the mair I'm that way bent,
Something cries, 'Hoolie! * I red you, honest man, tak tent!
· Ye'll shaw your folly.