WULLY.
Come, Gwordie lad, unyoke the yad,
Let's gow to Rosley Fair;
Lang Ned's aswore, wi' Symie' lad,
Peed Dick, and monie mair:
My titty Greace and Jenny Bell
Are gangen bye and bye,
Sae doff thy clogs, and don thysel-
Let fadder luik to t'kye.
GWORDIE.
O, Wully! leetsome may ye be!
For me, I downa gang;
I've often shek'd a leg wi' tee,
But now l's aw wheyte wrang;
My stomich's geane, nae sleep I get;
At neet I lig me down,
But nobbet pech, and gowl, and fret,
And aw for Betty Brown.
Sin' Cuddy Wulson' murry-neet,
When Deavie brees'd his shin
I've niver, niver yence been reet,
And aw for her, I fin:
Tou kens we danc'd a threesome reel,
And Betty set to me-
She luik'd sae neyce, and danc'd sae weel,
What cud a body de?
My fadder fratches sair eneugh,
If I but steal frae heame;
My mudder caws me peer deyl'd guff,
If Betty I but neame:
Atween the twee there's see a frase,
O but it's bad to beyde!
Yet, what's far war, aye Betty says,
She wunnet be my breyde.
WULLY.
Wey, Gworge! tou's owther fuil or sont,
To think o' see a frow;
In aw her flegmagaries donn'd,
What is she?-nought 'at dow:
Theer's sceape-greace Ben, the neybors ken,
Can git her onie day-
Er I'd be fash'd wi' sec a yen,
I'd list, or rin away!
Wi' aw her trinkum's on her back,
She's feyne eneugh for t'squire;
A sairy weyse I trow, she'd mak,
'At cuddn't muck a byre.-
But, whisht! here comes my titty Greace,
She'll guess what we're about-
To mworn-o'mworn, i' this seame pleace,
We'll hae the stwory out.
December 19, 1801.