Wit and humor > Dominie deposed, with the sequel

23
Whan we were wearied at the gouff.
Then Maggy Johnston’s was our houff,
Now a’ our gamesters may sit douff,
Wi’ hearts like lead.
Death wi’ his rung reach’d her a youfi',
An’ sae she’s dead.
Maun we he forc’d thy skill to tine.
For which we will right sair repine ?
Or hast thou left to bairns o’ thine,
The pauky knack,
brewing ale amaist like wine.
That gar’d us crack ?
ae brawly did a pease-scon toast,
iz i’ the quaff, and flee the frost,
here we gat fu’ wi’ little cost,
An’ muckle speed ;
fow wae worth death, our sport’s a’ lost,
Since Maggy’s dead.
e summer night I was sae fu’,
mang the riggs I gaed to spew,
yne down on a green bank I trow,
I took a nap,
u’ sought a night balillilu.
As soun’s a tap.
n’ whan the dawn began to glow,
hirsled up my dizzy pow,
rae ’mang the corn like worry-kow,
Wi’ banes fu’ sair,
i’ kend nae mair than if a yow,
How I came there.