3 Then to his bags he flew with speed, and round the drone he twisted ; Meg up and wallop'd o er the green, for brawly could she frisk it; Well done ! quo‘ he, play up, quo he, well bobb‘d quo Rob the Ranter, Tis worth my while to play, quo he, when I get sic a dancer
Weel hae ye play'd your part, quo' Meg, your cheeks are like the crimson ; There‘s nane in Scotland plays like you, since we lost Habby Simson. I've liv'd in Fife baith maid and wife, these ten years and a quarter, When ye come there to Auster lair, spier ye for Maggy Lauther.
Theu Rob he rous'd and took the road, and round a‘ Fife he ranted, And play'd a spring thro' Siller-dykes, as merry Meg he wanted And as he en erd Aast'er town, his drone it sounded louder, His bags he blew till the chanter flew, no pipes was ever prouder.
