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THE DEIL
Beside the birks I met the Deil,
A wheen o’ words I niffered wi’ him
And, clear and lang, the wuds amang
The merle sang whaur ye couldna see him ;
The pale spring licht was late when he
Was whustling tae the Deil and me.
I didna think it was himsel’,
I thocht he had been auld an’ crookit,
Sae thrawn an’ grim in ilka limb
Ye’d ken him by the way he lookit;
Wha’d think the Deil wad linger on
Tae listen till a bird like yon ?
They tell’t me that the Deil was black
And blacker nor the corbie’s feather,
But, loopin’ doon, a-lowe wi’ noon,
Nae bum broun frae the peat an’ heather,
!9

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