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5

Puir havered Will fell aff the drift,
And wander'd through the bow-kail;
And poud, for want o' better shift,
A runt was like a sow-tail,
Sae bowt that night.

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,
They roar and cry a' throu'ther;
The vera wee things, toddlin, rin,
Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther;
And if the castock's sweet or sour
Wi' jocktelegs they taste them;
Syne coziely aboon the door,
Wi' cannie care they've plac'd them,
To lie that night.

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a',
To pou their stalks o' corn;[1]
But Rab slips out, and jinks about,
Behint the muckle thorn:


    is, tocher, or fortune; and the taste of the castock, that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition.—Lastly, the stems, or to give them their ordinary appellation,—the runts, are placed somewhere above the lead of the door; and the Christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house, are, according to the priority of placing the runts, the names in question.

  1. They go to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three several times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle, that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed any thing but a maid.