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Fing Crispin! ~wale o’ilka loon
That ever robb'd or rul'd a town :
I mind to hear, like some baboon


its betters, He claim'd pretenfions to a crown,

And dee'd in fetters.


Infult my Chieftain, ony place,
Shall never ane o' taylor race ;
And fin' ye've dar'd, afore my face,

His name to blacken, Ye're owther fegbt, or dree disgrace

To save ye’r bacon.

Agree'd” quo Prickie, when he faun Himsel' in fic a hubble drawn ; “ That, tho'a taylor, I'm a man,

66 Ye're own content ; “ Else, as ye fin' me, juidge the clan

I represent !”

Now Expectation fill'a ilk breast
Wi' dread o' wliat might happen nieft:

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Sae crouse the twa set


their criest

Afore the tuilie, Fowk thought, in ither's waems, at least,

They'd sheath a gullie.

Arm'd wi' the law-broad and the shears,
The taylor i' the front appears ;
While Crispin, wha, in CHARLIE's weirs,

Had nobly bled,
A hazel-rung in triumph rears,

And, dauntless said:

« Now tak, thou warst o' worthless things, “ The vengeance due frae flighted kings !” Wi' that his doublet aff he fings,

And, in a wee,
The cudgel, or the law-broad, rings


To fee fair play, or help a frien',
Fowk flammer'd frae a' airths bedeen ;
Auld wives, to red them, ran between,

Like Amazons,
And nought was heard syne owr the green,

But flsraichs and groans.

Nor cou'd ye ken, wi' nicest care, Wha wan, or wha was licked there;

Pell-mell they feught, foul play or fair

Was a' the same, And friens and faes lay every where,

Baith blin' and lame.

To comfort thae, (inch-thick ơ glar, His ein japann'd, and chafts a.char,) “ Be thankfu', Sirs, it is nae war,'

(Quo' Yaedam Bryen) A lievin' dog is better far

“ Than a dead lyon !”

-Let ane, tho' crooked, tak a chappin, He'll think there's few mair tight or strappin ; Fu' crousely will he cock his tappir,

Like man o' weir, Wha, fresh, had but a gun been snappin,

Wad (wat wi' fear.

Sae was't that day; for rowth o' thae
Wha, wanting drink, nae mettle ha’e,
mony a fearfu' lunner ga’e,

But dread or shame, 'Till they, wi' ribs baith black and blae,

Were draggled hame.

When fowk are in a merry pin, Weel fortify'd wi' Highland gin, They'll eithly thole a weel-pey'd skin,

(Like leather, teugh,) And nowther care nor sorro:sin’

For lang anough:

But, suin as sober sense returns,
Yeftreen's debauch the Drunkard mourns ;
His feckless body aft he turns, 1

The pain to lay;
Sair griey'd, baith head and heart aik burns

Wi' him niest day.


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The Morn is our gude Hallow.E'en,
And our Court a' will ride ;
Gin ony Maiden wins her man,
Then the may be his bride.

Old Ballad of ibe FAIRY COURT.

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F a'the festivals we hear,
Frae Handsel-Munday till New-year,
There's few in Scotland held mair dear

For mirth, I ween,
Or yet can boast o' better cheer,

Than * Hallow-e'en,

* Hallow-E'en, or Holy-Eve, is the evening previous to the celebration of all Saints. That it is propitious to the rites of divination, an opinion fill common in many parts of Scotland.

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