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‹‹‹ prev (386) Page 368Page 368Kate Macvean

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369
She needs nae brod aboon her door to tell she sells a gill,
A bleezin' ingle's a' her sign, wi' rowth o' reaniin' yill,
Whaur queer auld-fashion'd carles meet to crack their
at e'en.
An' tell their tales o' auld langsyne wi' blythe auld Kate
Macvean —
Stumpy Kate Macvean, dumpy Kate Macvean,
Aye but an' ben, wi' tappit hen, gangs stoitin' Kate Macvean.
There's ne'er a chiel that blaws the pipes or draws a fiddle-
bow.
Gangs near her door, but 's bade gae in, an' sit as lang 's he
dow ;
Her ingle-neuk gi'es shelter e'en to ballad-singer louns.
An' a' sic like clanjamphry, when gaun to burgh-touns —
Trusty Kate Macvean, lusty Kate Macvean,
The very brute beast shaws gudewill to blythe auld Kate
Macvean.
O wha wad count their time mis-spent though they should
chance to sit
At least twa hours 'hint sober folk, wi' sic a flash o' wit !
She gars auld kimmers haud their sides while tears drap frae
their een,
An' youngsters giggle an' gufl'aw — auld pawky Kate Mac-
vean —
Gashy Kate Macvean, pashy Kate Macvean,
A' Scotland through, nane dings, I trow, auld rantin' Kate
Macvean.

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