MAGGY JOHNSTON'S ELEGY. 23
Whan we were wearied at the gouff, Then Maggy Johnſton's was our houff, Now a' our gameſters may fit douff, Wi' hearts like lead, Death wi' his rung reach'd her a youff, An' ſae ſhe's dead.
Maun we be forc'd thy ſkill to tine, For which we will right fair repine? Or haſt thou left to bairns 'o' thine The pauky knack, O brewing ale amaiſt like wine, That gar'd us crack?
Sae brawly did a peaſe-ſcone toſt, Biz i' the quaff, and flee the froſt, There we gat fu' wi' little coſt. An' muckle ſpeed; Now wae worth death, our ſport's a' loſt, Since Maggy's dead.
Ae ſummer night I was fae fu', Amang the riggs I gaed to ſpew, Syne down on a green bank I trow, An' fought a' night Balillilu, As found's a tap.
An' whan the dawn began to glow, I hirſled up my dizzy pow, Frae 'mang the corn like worry-kow, Wi banes fu fair, An' kend nae mair than if a yow, How I came there.
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