13
CANTO III.
BARD.
Now Sol wi' his lang whip gae cracks,
Upon his nighering cooaers' oacks,
To gar them tak the Olympian brae,
With a cart load of bleezing day:
The country hind ceases to snore,
Bangs frae his bed, unlocks the door,
His bladder rooms, and gies a rift,
Then ⟨tently⟩ surveys the lift,
And weary of his wife and fleas,
To their embrace prefers his claes;
⟨Scarce⟩ had the lark forsook her nest,
Whan Jouk wha had got little rest,
For thinking on his plot and lassie,
Got up to gang and deal wi' Bawsy:
Awa a fast o'er the bent he gade,
And fand him dozing in his bed,
His blankets crecshy, foul his sark,
For curtains trim'd wi' spiders' wark;
⟨Soot⟩ drape hang trae his roof and kipples,
His floor was a tobacco spittles:
⟨Yet⟩ on the antlets of a deer,
⟨Hang⟩ money an auld claymore and spear,
With coats o' mail and targets trusty,
⟨Inch⟩ thick of dirt and unco rusty;
{{reconstruct|Enough appeard to shew his billy,
⟨That⟩ he was lazy poor and silly,
⟨And⟩ wadna mah sae great a bustle,
About his bonaet as did Bristle,
