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His horses, lively, strong*and fat;
Ye'd e'en admire his vera cat.—
Rab gies his gill baith frank an' free;
He tells his tale wi' routh an' glee.
Relates how close he'd plou'd the soil.
An' brags a wee how Bess cou'd toil.
The man's made gear, an' gin he's spar'd.
He'll be as rich as mony a Laird;
The kintra side admires the charm,
Tlie spat's now ca'd a bonny farm.
By this wee smack o' muirlan' sense,
Ye'll ken th' offender an' th' offence;
An' mair than that, ye can define
Wha Stan' for men, an' wha for swine!

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