The Authors Earnest Cry And Prayer
ach you, wi' a reekin whittle,
anither sang.
this while she's been in kous mood,
her lost militia fir'd her bluid;
(deil na they never mair do guid,
py'd her that pliskie!)
an' now she's like to rin red-wud
about her whisky.
an' lord! if ahey pit her till't,
her tartaicoat she'll kilt,
an'durk an' pistol at her belt,
she'll tak the streets,
an' rin her whittle to the hilt,
i' the first she meets!
fod sake, sirs! then speak her fair,
an' straik her ie wi' the hair,
The Authors Earnest Cry And Prayer(7/13)