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And yet forsooth ye girn and grumble,
And with a gab unthankfu mumble
Out mony a black unworty curse,
When Rosie bids ys draw your purse,
When she's fae generously content,
With not above thirty per cent.
Bris. Damn you and her tho' now I'm blae
I'm hopaful yet to see the day,
I'll gar yeu baith repent that e'er
Ye reav'd by force awa my gear,
Without gien thanks, or making price,
Or ever spiering my advice.
Jauk Peace gowk, we naething do at a',
But by the letter of the law,
Then nae mair wit your din torment us,
Growling like ane non empas muntis,
Else Rosie issue may a writ,
To tie ye up baith hand and fit,
In dungeon strong, no meat or drink,
Till ye be starv'd or die in stink.
Bard. Thus Jouk and Bristle when they met
With sic braw language ither treat.
Just fury glows in Bristle's veins:
And though his bonnet he retains,
Yet on his crest he may not cock it
But in a coffer close maun lock it.
Bare headed thus he e'en knocks under,
And lets them drive away the plunder,
Sae hae I seen beside a tower,
The king o' brutes oblig'd to cour;
And on his royal paunches those,
A dwarf to prob him with a pole!