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My ewle wi* the crooked horn,
Peur filly ewie ! ftovvn awa\
The ewie, &c.
O had ihe died of crook or cauld,
As ewies die when they are auld*
It wad na been, by mony fauld,
Sae fair a heart to nane o's a'.
The ewie, &e.
For a' the claith that we ha'e worn,
Frae her and hers, fae aften fhorn,
The lofs of her we cou'd ha'e born,
Had fair ftrae death tane her awa'.
The ewie, &c.
But this poor thing to lofe her life,
Aneath a greedy villains knife,
I'm really fear'd that our goodwife
Sail never win aboon't ava.
The ewie, &c.
O all ye bards beneath Kinghom,
Call up your mufes, let them mourn ;
Our ewie wi' the crooked horn
Is flown frae us, and fell'd and a'.
The ewie, &c.
THE END OF THE FIRST VOLUME:

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