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Song
to Iain son of Sir Norman, on his presenting
her with a snuff-mull.
Hithill uthill agus o.
Though I go to my bed it is not sleep I desire, for the
flood is so great and my mill is unshod; the mill-due
is to be paid if this year is not to ruin me, and get it
I must, though it be that I borrow it.
I dearly love this mason that hath satisfied my spirit;
thou great one of sweet-speaking mouth, though
silent thou art eloquent; on my word, the castles
themselves I'd get for the asking, and despite my
state that hath laid me under a debt.
Though I called thee a mason, by my word I spoke
falsely; for royal is thy lineage, and full manifest to

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