Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Collection of ancient and modern Scottish ballads, tales, and songs > Volume 2

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(John oo'd and nicher'd like a stallion,)
" Your dons, wer't but a single million^
I'd be right happy o'er them."— .
" A million, John, ye're ay sae fuiany,
A million canna be that mony ;
What will ye gi'e me for them ?"
*' Your honour, sir, (hum ha) I think
(And rang the bell for pen and ink),
They'll run about ten pecks."-—
" For twal pecks price, John, ye sail get them.
They're counted gude by a' e'er ate them :"
(John hirsel'd on his specks.)
" Your honour's will, a bargain be't;
We'll put it upon black and white
In case it be forgot ;
It's lang e'er I the taties need.
And time gars things wear out o' head."
The laird sign'd what John wrote.
Fom' months elaps'd, seed-time drew on.
To lift his bargain east gaes John ;
The laird look'd o'er the yate :
" Good morrow, sir !" — " Weel, John, what now r
" Ha, sir, your honour filled me fou
Amaist, last time we met :
** Frithat I mind, when right weel on,
A million o' your dons," quo' John,
(His auld gray head he scrunted) :
" Aye, that's as true, ye're very right.
Bring yont your Tarn to-morrow night
And we shall hae them counted."-