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I've sent you here some rhyming ware,
A’ that I bargain'd for an' mair;
Sae, when

hae an hour to spare,

I will expect,
Yon Sang * ye'll sen't wi' cannie care,

And no neglect.

Tho' faith, sma’ heart hae I to fing!
My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing!
I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring,

An' danc'd my fill;
I'd better gaen an' fair'd the King,

At Bunker's Hill.

'Twas ae night lately in my fun,
I gaed a roving wi' the gun,
An' brought a Paitrick to the grun',

A bonnie hen,

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And, as the twilight was begun,

Thought nane wad ken.

The poor, wee thing was little hurt;
I ftrakit it a wee for sport,
Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't ;

But, Deil-ma-care!
Somebody tells the Poacher-court

The hale affair

Some auld, us'd hands had taen a note,
That fic a hen had got a shot;
I was suspected for the plot ;

I scorn'd to lie;
So gat the whissle o' my groat,

An' pay't the fee.

But, by my gun, o'guns the wale, , An' by my pouther an' my hail,


An' by my hen, an' by her tail,

I vow an' swear ! The Game shall pay, o'er moor an' dale,

For this, niest year.

As soon's the clockin-time is by,
An' the wee pouts begun to cry,
L-d, I'fe hae fportin by an' by,

For my gowd guinea :
Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye

For't, in Virginia.

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame! 'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, But twa-three draps about the wame

Scarce thro' the feathers; An' baith a yellow George to claim,

An' thole their blethers !

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It pits me ay as mad's a hare;
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair;
But pennyworths again is fair,

When time's expedient : Meanwhile I am, respected Sir,

Your most obedient.




B A L L A D.


THERE was three kings into the east,

Three kings both great and high, An' they hae sworn a folemn oath

John Barleycorn should die.

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* This is partly composed on the plan of an old song known by the same name.

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