13
The Cummer then came to me bent,
An’ gravely did my Son present;
She bade me kiss him, be content,
Then wish’d me joy;
An’ tald it was—what luck had sent,
A waly boy.
In ilka member, lith an’ llm’,
Its mouth, its nose, its cheeks, its chin,
'Tis a’ like daddy, just like him,
His very self,
Tho’ it look’d canker’d, sour an’ grim,
Like ony elf.
Then whisp’ring low, to me she harked,
Indeed your hips they shou’d be yarked.
Nae mair Mess John, nor dare ye clarkit,
Faith ye hae ca’d
Your hogs unto a bonny market
Indeed my lad.
But tell me, man, I shou’d say master,
What muckle deil in your way chas’d her?
Lowns baith! but I think I hae plac’d her
Now on her side;
My coming here has not disgrac’d her,
At the Yule tide.
An’ for yoursell, ye dare na look
Hereafter ever on a book,
Your mou’ about the psalms to crook :
Ye’ve play’d the fool:
Anither now your post maun bruik,
An’ you the stool.
