. Poems and songs . Though leeward whyles against my took a bicker. I there wi Something did forgather, That put me in an eerie swither ; An awfu scythe, out-owre ae shouther, Clear-dangling, hang ;A three-taed leister on the ither Lay, large and lang. Us stature seemd lang Scotch ells twa,The queerest shape that eer I saw,For fient a wame it had ava ! And then its shanks,They were as thin, as sharp, an sma As cheeks o branks ! Guid-een, quo I ; Friend ! hae ye been mawin,When ither folk are busy sawin 1It seemd to mak a kind o staun, But naething spak :At length says I, Friend ! whare
. Poems and songs . Though leeward whyles against my took a bicker. I there wi Something did forgather, That put me in an eerie swither ; An awfu scythe, out-owre ae shouther, Clear-dangling, hang ;A three-taed leister on the ither Lay, large and lang. Us stature seemd lang Scotch ells twa,The queerest shape that eer I saw,For fient a wame it had ava ! And then its shanks,They were as thin, as sharp, an sma As cheeks o branks ! Guid-een, quo I ; Friend ! hae ye been mawin,When ither folk are busy sawin 1It seemd to mak a kind o staun, But naething spak :At length says I, Friend ! whare ye gaun ? Will ye gae back l It spak right howe :— My name is DeathsBut be na fleyd.—Quoth I, Guid faith,W re maybe come to stap my breath ; But tent me, billie,1 red ye weel, take care o skaith, See, theres a gully ! Guidman, quo he, put up your m no designd to try its mettle ;But if I did, I wad be kittle To be misleard,1 wadna mind it, no that spittle Out-owre my beard. AND DR. HORNROOK. 93. Weel, weel, says I, a bargain be t ;Come, gies your hand, and say were greetWell ease our shanks and tak a seat, Come, gies your news ;This while ye hae been mony a gate, At mony a house. m DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. Ay, ay ! quo he, and shook his head,11 Its een a lang, lang time indeedSin I began to nick the thread, And choke the breath :Folk maun do something for their bread, And sae maun Death. Sax thousand years are near-hand fledSin1 I was to the hutching bred,And mony a scheme in vains been laid To stap or scaur me ;Till ane Hornbook s taen up the trade, And faith ! hell vvaur me. Ye ken Jock Hornbook i the Clachan,Deil mak his kingVhood in a spleuchan !Hes grown sae weel acquaint wi Buchan And ither chaps,The weans hand out their fingers laughin And pouk my hips. T was but yestreen, nae farther gane,I threw a noble throw at ane :Wi less, Im sure, Ive hundreds slain ; But just playd dirl on the bane, But did nae mair. Hornbook was by, wi ready art
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Keywords: ., bookauthorburnsrob, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850, bookyear1858
