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Broadside ballad entitled 'Gray's Ellegie With His Own Conceity Answer'




Own Conceity ANSWER.

1 AND has ald Death e'n come at last
       and of his Craft ge'n Gray a cast,
Without Respect to Aull or last

For ought I hear,
Tho' he were Dead ther's no mnch lost

Nay find a. Tear.
2 His Parents I did ken fow' well,

indeed was better nor him-sell,
But for a Truth I Cannot tell

How auld was he,
E'n ask his Meed-wife Jannie Beell,

She winny Lie.

3 With Willie Mathew he was bred,
a. purpose for to learn a Trade,
But a the Wives in the Moor side,

                                     Had little Peace,

But now into his Grave he's laid

That crost their Face.
4 O But he was a cruel Knave,
    skull Davic's Dog and the a leave
They were not sure an Hour to live,

nor half O that,
He Chaste, he Stond, he sought no leave

To beat their Back.
5. He left Montross his Native Land,

and Betty too I understand,
With ne'r a Penny in her Hand

Nor Credit bad,

Ther's no great Miss tho' Death command
This roving Blade.

6 This Gray he had a virtuous Wife,
was carefull of him all his Life,
Poor Woman she had mikle Grief

ay while he Liv'd,
But now of Sorrow, Sturt and Strife

She's e'n reliev'd
7 A Right good Shoe he cou'd a made,

But very careless O' his Trade,
O mikle ado poor Bettie had

To make him Wirk,
This lasie Loun in Grave is laid

There let him Lurk,
8 When he woud to the Ale-house tour

there he would clash and drink an Hour,
He nee'r forgot you may be sure

The News to read,
Nor did he let the Ale grow Sower,

That's true indeed.

9 Forsooth he was a gelly Gose,
the Tippony about did toss,

And with good Fellows took his Doss

of Ale you ken.
But now the Ale-Wives at a loss

Fin care o' them.

10 For Honnest Betty mony a Day,

has wish't that a their Bungs were dry,
But wou'd you ken the Reason why,

He stay'd our Lang
And this did Cross Poor Betty ay.

when she was Thrang

W HAT Raskal's this dar be so bold,

       me for to Hector so and Scold

That thinks my faillings to unfold

                            Which doth me grieve

For I am neither Dead nor Old,

                      But we your Leave.

2 Is Louden Folks sick Fools think ye,

    will they go Thirty Miles and three,

To ask the Dead   how   old I be,

                         That's Jannie Beell;

That she can neither Speak nor Lie,

                               They ken fow Well.

3 It's true I unto Mathow went,

    to learn a Trade was my Intent,

But Wives more cross then Dogs in Lent

                                  it's there did dwell,

To make them gree much Time I spent

                               Themselves can tell.

4 How cou'd I be a cruel Knave,

    to Davie's Dog and a the lave

They eat our Hides which did us grive

                            or they were Tan'd

To Thieves I'm sure if Justice give,

They should be Hang'd
5 I pray you Sir how do you ken,
      what Money in her Purse was then
Be carefull ay folks Name to stain

Out fy for Shame,
Let Charity with you remain

look ay at Hame,

6 It's true I have a Virtuous wife
loves me as she do's her Life,

Sure you would give her no Relief

Gin I were Dead,
No Fardle nor a Penny Loafe,

Nay Fiend a Head.

7 It is well kend into this Town,
that I can make a pair of Shoon,

Altho you say I make but an,

And does discrave,
Me as Give I were dead and gone,

whose yet alive

8 I do not think it with my Pen,

to answer Nonsense Line by Line,
Nor do I yet the Roason ken,

What ailse the lown
It's Time when I am Dead and gone

for to begin ;

9 My Elegie it for to make,
such balder dash to undertake

Indeed I'm sorry for your sake

You silly Fool,
It shows your Judgment is but wake

To redicoll

10 Me with Sower Ale, or this and that,
dry Bungs long Staying, I ken not what,

It's a but Nonsence well I wat

You should be whang'd,
I do not wallow you a Plack.

E'n go be hang'd.

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Probable period of publication: 1720-1730   shelfmark: Ry.III.c.36(112)
Broadside ballad entitled 'Gray's Ellegie With His Own Conceity Answer'
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