8 THE DOMINIE DEPOS’D.
The Kirk then pardons no ſuch prots,
They muſt tell down good five pounds Scots,
Tho' they ſhould pledge their petticoats,
An' gae arſe bare;
The leaſt price there is twenty groats,
An' prigging fair.
If then the lad does not her wed,
Poor Meg fome feigned tears maun ſhed,
Her minny crooks her mou' and dad,
They fart and fling;
"O wow that e'er I made the bed,"
Then does ſhe ſing.
Thus for her Maidenhead ſhe moans,
Bewailing what is paſt;
Her pitcher's daſh'd againſt the ſtones,
And broken at the laſt.
Ρ Α R T II.
A' Maid's, therefore, I do bemoan,
Betwixt the rivers Dee and Don,
If anes they get a lick o'yon,
Tho' by the laird,
The toy-mutch maun then gae on
Nae mair bare hair'd.
Yet wanton Venus, that ſhe bitch,
Does a' our ſenſes ſae bewitch,
An' fires our blood wi' fic an itch,
That aftentimes,
There is nae help but to commit
Some ill-far'd crimes.
