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An’ Wattie he sat in the ale house,
and hard at the bicker did ca'
Sae nicely as Maggie sat by him ;
he took the pint-stoup in his arms;,
Quo’ he, I think they’re right saucy,
that lo’es na good father's bairns.
Sing fal de ral, la de.

But now it grew ia'e i' the eening,
and bughting time was drawing near;
The lasses had stanch'd a’ their greening,
wi’south o’ bra' apples and pears;
There's Tibbie, and Sibbie, and Lillie,
whaweel on the spindle can spin,
Stood glowring at sig(illegible text)s and glass winnocks,
but fiend a ane bade them come in.
Sing fal de ral, la de.

Gosh guides did you e’er see the like o't,
sea yonders a bonny black swan,
It looks as it fain wou’d be at us
what's yon that it has in it’s han’ ?
Awa’ daft gowk, quo Wattie,
it's nane but a rickle o’ sticks,
See here’s the deil and Beil Hawkie,
and yonder's Mess James and Auld Nick,
Sing fal de ral, la de.