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Gude pity me, because I'm little!
For though I am an elf o' mettle,
An' can, like ony wabster's shuttle,
Jink there or here,
Yet, scarce as lang's a gude kail-whittle ,
I'm unco queer.
An' now Thou kens our waefu' case;
For Geordie's jurr we're in disgrace,
Because we stang'd her through the place,
An' hurt her spleuchan ;
For whilk we daurna show our face
Within the clachan .
An' now we're dern'd in dens and hollows,
And hunted, as was William Wallace,
Wi' constables -- thae blackguard fallows ,
An' sodgers baith ;
But Gude preserve us frae the gallows,
That shamefu' death!
Auld grim black-bearded Geordie's sel' --
O shake him owre the mouth o' hell!
There let him hing , an' roar, an' yell
Wi' hideous din ,
And if he offers to rebel,
Then heave him in.
When Death comes in wi' glimmerin blink ,
An' tips auld drucken Nanse the wink,
May Sautan gie her doup a clink
Within his yett ,
An' fill her up wi' brimstone drink,
Red-reekin het .
Though Jock an' hav'rel Jean are merry --
Some devil seize them in a hurry,
An' waft them in th' infernal wherry
Straught through the lake,
An' gie their hides a noble curry
Wi' oil of aik !
As for the jurr-puir worthless body !
She's got mischief enough already;
Wi' stanged hips, and buttocks bluidy
She's suffer'd sair ;
But , may she wintle in a woody,
If she wh-e mair !
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