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Guid-een, quo'I; Friend! hae ye been mawin, "When ither folk are busy sawin?

Poems. p. 34

DRAWN BY R.WESTALL RA.ENGRAVED BY W.FINDEN;PUBLISHED BY JOHN SHARPE, DUKE STREET, PICCADILLY:

AUG.1.18 24.

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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,
It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed
Sin' I began to nick the thread,

An' choke the breath :
Folk maun do something for their bread,

An' sae maun Death.

“Sax thousand years are near-hand fled,
Sin' I was to the butching bred,
An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid,

To stap or scar me;
Till ane Hornbook's 3 ta'en up the trade,

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 wiBuchan 4

An' ither chaps, The weans haud out their fingers laughin

And pouk my hips.

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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.

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" Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen,
I threw a noble throw at ane;
Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain;

But deil-ma-care,
It just play'd dirl on the bane,

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,
I near-hand cowpit wi' my hurry,
But yet the bauld Apothecary

Withstood the shock;
I might as weel hae try'd a quarry

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.

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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;
True Sal-marinum o' the seas;
The Farina of beans and pease,

He has't in plenty ;
Aqua-fontis, what you please,

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.

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