(7)
A norlan’ Laird neist trotted up,
Wi' bassen’d nag, and siller whip.
Cry’d. Here's my beast lad, had he grip
Or tie him to a tree;
What’s goud to me. I’ve wealth o’ lan'?
Bellow on ane o’ worth your han’.
He thought to pay what he was awn
Wi’ Jenny's bawbee.
A lawyer niest wi' blatherin’ gab,
Wi' speeches wove like ony web;
In ilk anes corn he took a dab,
An' a' for a fee :
Accounts he ow’d thro’ a’ the town.
And tradesmen's tongues nae mair cou’d drown
But now he thought to clout his gown
Wi' Jenny’s bawbee.
Quite spruce, just frae the washing tubs,
A fool came neist, but life has rubs,
Foul were the roads, and fu' the dubs,
And fair besmear'd was he:
He danc'd up, squintin' thro' a glass,
And grinn'd—I faith, a bonny lass
He thought to win wi’ front o’ brass,
And Jenny’s bawbee.
She bade the laird gae kaim his wig,
The soldier not to strut sae big.
The lawyer not to be a prig,
