42
Cried, here’s my beast, lad, baud the grup,
Or tie him to a tree.
What’s gowd to me. I’ve walth o’ lan’—
Bestow on ane o’ worth your han’.
He thought to pay what he was awn
Wi’ Jenny’s bawbee.
A lawyer neist, wi’ bleth’rin gab,
Wi’ speeches wove like ony wab;
O ilk ane’s corn he took a dab,
And a’ for a fee:
Accounts he ow’d through a’ the town,
And tradesmen’s tongues nae mair could drown;
But now he thought to clout his gown
Wi’ Jenny’s bawbee.
Quite spruce, just frae the washin’ tubs,
A fool cam’ neist, but life has rubs;
Foul were the roads, and fu’ the dubs,
And sair besmear’d was he:
He danc’d up, squintin’ through a glass,
And grinn’d, I’faith, a bonny lass,
He thought to win, wi’ front o’ brass,
Jenny’s bawbee.
She bade the laird gae kaim his wig,
The sodger not to strut sae big,
The lawyer not to be a prig;
The fool he cried, "Tee-hee!
