Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak,
An' taks me by the hands,

Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck

'Of a' the ten commands

V.

My name is Fun-your cronie dear, 'The nearest friend ye hae;

An' this is Superstition here,

'An' that's Hypocrisy.

'I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, To spend an hour in daffin:

'Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair,

'We will get famous laughin

At them this day.'

VI.

Quoth I, With a' my heart, I'll do't;

'I'll get my Sunday's sark on, 'An' meet you on the holy spot; 'Faith we'se hae fine remarkin!' Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time An' soon I made me ready;

For roads were clad, frae side to side,

Wi' monie a wearie body,

In droves that day.

PUBLISHED JAN.L1814, BY T. CADELL & W. DAVIES, STRAND, LONDON.

VII.

Here farmers gash, in ridin graith
Gaed hoddin by their cotters;
There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith,
Are springin o'er the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,

In silks an' scarlets glitter;

Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang,

An' farls bak'd wi' butter,

Fu' crump that day.

VIII.

When by the plate we set our nose,
Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence,
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws,
An' we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show,

On ev'ry side they're gathrin,

Some carrying dales, some chairs an' stools,

An' some are busy blethrin

Right loud that day.

IX.

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs,
An' screen our countra Gentry,
There, racer Jess, an' twa-three wh-res,
Are blinkin at the entry.

Here

Here sits a raw of tittlin jades,
Wi' heaving breast and bare neck,
An' there a batch o' wabster lads,
Blackguarding frac Kilmarnock
For fun this day.

X.

Here some are thinkin on their sins,
An' some upo' their claes;
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins,
Anither sighs an' prays:

On this hand sits a chosen swatch,
Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces;
On that a set o' chaps at watch,
Thrang winkin on the lasses

To chairs that day.

XI.

O happy is that man an' blest!
Nae wonder that it pride him!
Wha's ain dear lass that he likes best,
Comes clinkin down beside him!
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back,
He sweetly does compose him;

Which, by degrees, slips round her neck,

An's loof upon her bosom,

Unkenn'd that day.