3
THE TALE.
There liv'd in Fife an auld, ſtout, warldly chiel,
Wha's ſtomach kend nae fare but milk and meal;
A wife he had, I think they ca'd her Bell,
And twa big ſons, amaiſt as heigh's himſel.
Rab was a gleg, ſmart cock, wi' pouthert paſh,
Ringan, a ſlow, feart, baſhfu', ſimple hath.
Baith to the College gaed. At firſt ſpruce Rab,
At Greek and Latin, grew a very dab:
He beat a' roun' about him, fair and clean,
And ilk ane courted him to be their frien';
Frae houſe to houſe they harld him to dinner,
But curſt poor Ringan for a hum-drum ſinner.
Rab tauked now in fie a lofty ſtrain,
As tho' braid Scotland had been a' his ain,
He ca'd the Kirk the Church, the Yirth the Globe
And chang'd his name for ſooth, frae Rab to Bob.
Whare'er ye met him, flouriſhing his rung,
The hale diſcourſe was murder'd wi' his tongue.
On friends and foes wi' impudence he ſet,
And ramm'd his noſe in ev'ry thing he met.
The College now, to Rab grew douſ and dull,
He ſcorn'd wi' books to ſtupify his ſkull;
But whirld to Plays and Balls, and fae like places,
And roar'd awa' at Fairs and Kintra Races :
Sent hame for filler trae his mither Bell,
And caſt a horſe, and rode a race himſel';
Drank night and day, and ſyne when mortal fu',
Row'd on the floor, and ſnor'd like ony ſow;
Loſt a' his filler wi' ſome gambling ſparks,
And pawn'd for punch, his Bible and his ſarks
