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Jouk. Here boony lass, your humble slave,
Presents you with the thing you crave,
The riven Will and Bonnets ta,
Wich maks the third worth nought ave.
Our powr given up, now I demand
Yonr promis d lowe, and eke your land.
Bard. Rose simild to see the lad outwitted,
And bonnets to the flames committed;
Immediately an awfu sound,
As ane wad thought raise frae the ground,
And syne appeard a stalwart Ghaist,
Whase stern and angry looks amaist
Unhool'd their sauls, shaking they ſay,
Him frae the fire the Bonnets draw
Then came to Jouk, and wi'twa rugs,
Encreas'd the length of baith his lugs,
And ſaid ———
Ghaift. ——— Be a' thy days an ass,
And hackney to this cunning Lass;
But for these bonnets I'll preserve them,
For bairns unborn that will deserve them.
Bard With that he vanish'd from their een'
And left poor Joak wi' breeks not clean
He shakes, while Rosie rants and capers
And ca's the vision nought but vapours:
Rubs o'er his cheeks and gab wi reaim,
Till he believs't to be a dream:
Syne co the closet leads the way,
To soup him up with usqu bae.
Rosie Now Donay lad, ye may be free,
To handle ⟨what⟩ pertains to me;
And ere the ⟨sun⟩ though he be dry,
Has driven down the westling sky.
