24 MAGGY JOHNSTON'S ELEGY.
Some ſaid it was the pith o' broom, That ſhe ſtow'd in her making loom, Which in our heads rais'd fic a ſoom, Or ſome wild feed, Which aft the chappen ſtoup did toom, But fill d our head.
But now ſince 'tis fae that we muſt Not in the beſt ale put our truſt, But when we're auld return to duſt, Without remead; Why ſhould we tak it in diſguſt, Since Maggy's dead.
O' wardly comforts ſhe was rife, An' liv'd a lang an' hearty life, Right free o' care, or toil, or ſtrife, Till ſhe was ſtale; An' kend to be a canny wife At brewing ale.
Then fareweel Maggy dowſe an fell, O' brewers a' you bore the bell; Let a' your goflips yelp an yell, An without fead, Gueſs whither ye're in heav n or hell, They're ſure ye re dead.
EPITAPH.
O RARE MAGGY JOHNSTON.
GLASGOW,
Printed by J. & M. Robertſon, Saltmarket, 1800.
