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Crying, O, what will come o' me,Fy, for I'm like for to spew,Sic a byreful of maids beshit,And the midden is heepet up fu'.The beggars and bairns about,Likewise to the bunneuch were put,And sic a great day of dunging,The Knockerland never did get.The bride and her maidens sat greeting,And crying their credit was crackt,We'll neither get tailor nor sooter,Such a more in our marriage they'll mak,Crying, O what will come o' me,And O, what will we do now,Young lads will scunner to see us,Our tails they never will trow.
MACPHERSON'S Farewell.
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong,The wretch's destinie,M'Pherson's time will not be long,On yonder gallows-tree.Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,Sae dauntingly gaed he,He play'd a spring and danc'd it round,Below the gallows tree.
O what is death but parting breath!On many a bloody plain,
