4
The whisky like water they’re selling,
And porter as sma’ as their yill,
And ay as you’re pouring, they’re telling,
Troth, dear, it’s just sixpence the gill.
Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Says Meg, see yon beast wi’ the taes on’t,
Wi’ the face o’t as black as the soot,
Preserve’s, it has fingers and taes on’t,—
Eh, lass, it’s an unco like brute.
O woman, but ye aro a gomeral,
To mak sic a won'er at that,
D’ye no ken, daft gouk, that’s a mangrel,
That’s bred ’twixt a dog and a cat.
Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
See you supple jade how she’s dancing,
Wi’ the white ruffi’d breeks and red shoon,
Frae tap to the tae she’s a’ glancing
Wi’ gowd, and a feather aboon.
My troth, she’s a braw decent kimmer
As I’ve yet seen in the fair;
Her decent, quo’ Meg, she’s some limmer,
Or faith sho would never be there.
Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Before they got out o the bustle,
Poor Tam got his fairing, I trow,
For a stick at the ging’bread play’d whistle,
