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SATAN’s WAREHOUSE DOOR,
&c. &c. &c.
When martinmas is drawin’ near
And trade Iooks flat an’ lowran.
It puts poor bodies in a steer
To get a’ matters o’er han’—
Now fast approaching was the hour,
The time the heal half year in,
The landlord, wi’ a greedy glowr,
Comes for the tenant speerin’.
Good right had I to mind the laird—
I push’d—I swat—I rumpet,
Wi' scarcely time to shave my beard,
Aff to the warehouse stumpet;
Where sat a sample o’ our tribe,
That some has made their sport o’,
Wi’ looks sufficient to describe
What telling would fa’ short o’.}}
