20
Jouk, ay ca'd wife anint the hand,
The daffing of his doings fand;
O'er late he now began to see,
The ruin of his family;
But past reliet, lair'd in a midden,
He's now obliged to do her biddin',
Awad wi' strict command he's sent,
To Fairyland to lift the rent
And with him mony a catterpillar,
To rug frae Briss and Bawsy siller,
For her braid table maun be serv'd,
Though Fairy fouk should a be starv'd.
Jouk thus surrounded with his guards,
Now plunder hay stacks barns and yards,
They drive the nout frae Bristle's fauld,
While he can nought but ban and scauld.
Bris. Vile slave to a hissey ill begotten,
By mony dads wi' clap half rotten,
Wert na for honor of my mither,
I should na think ye were my brither.
Jouk, Dear brither way this rude reflection
Learn to be grateful for protection;
The Petereneans, bloody beass
That gars fowks lick th: dowps of priests,
Els on a brander, like a haddock,
Be ⟨broiled⟩, sprawling like a paddock.
These moasters lang e'er now had come,
With faggots, taws, and tuck o' drum,
And twind you of your wealth and lives,
Syne without speering ——— your wives,
Had not the Roiycruians stood,
The bulwark of your rights and blood;
