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Gudeman,' quo' he, 'put up your wbittle, I'm no design'd to try its mettle; But if I did, I wad be kittle
To be misleard, I wadna mind it, no that spittle
Out-owre my beard.'
‘Weel, weel !' says I, “ a bargain be't; Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't; We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat,
Come, gies your news; This while? ye hae been mony a gate
At mony a house.
• Ay, ay! quo' he, an’ shook his head,
An' choke the breath :
An' sae maun Death.
“Sax thousand years are near-hand fled,
To stap or scar me;
An' faith, he'll waur me.
• Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan! He's grown sae well acquaint wi’ Buchan 4
An' ither chaps, The weans haud out their fingers laughin
And pouk my hips.
See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart; } But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art.
And cursed skill, Has made them baith no worth a f-t,
Damn'd haet they'll kill.
" Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen,
But did naé mair.
• Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, And had sae fortify'd the part, That when I looked to my dart,
It was sae blunt, Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart
Of a kail-runt.
"I drew my scythe in sic a fury,
Withstood the shock;
O'hard whin rock.
Ev'n them he canna get attended, Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, Just in a kail-blade, and send it,
As soon's he smells't, Baith their disease, and what will mend it,
At once he tells't.
And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, and bottles,
15 He's sure to hae; Their Latin names as fast he rattles:
As A B C.
Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees;
He has't in plenty ;
He can content ye.
'Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, Urinus Spiritus of capons; Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings,
Distillid per se; Sal-alkali o’ Midge-tail clippings,
And mony mae.'
· Waes me for Johnie Ged's Holes now,' Quo’I, “if that the news be true! His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew,
Sae white and bonnie, Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew;
They'll ruin Johnie !'
The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, And says, 'Ye needna yoke the pleugh, Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh,
Tak ye nae fear: They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh
In twa-three year.