D h D H（2 / 4）

stap y breath;

but tent , billie;

i red ye weel, tak care o&039; skaith

see, there&039;s a gully!”

“gudean,” o&039; he, “put up your whittle,

i&039; no designed to try its ttle;

but if i did, i wad be kittle

to be islear&039;d;

i wad na d it, no that spittle

out-owre y beard”

“weel, weel!” says i, “a barga be&039;t;

e, gie&039;s your hand, an&039; sae we&039;re gree&039;t;

we&039;ll ease our shanks an tak a seat—

e, gie&039;s your news;

this while ye hae been ony a gate,

at ony a hoe”

“ay, ay!” o&039; he, an&039; shook his head,

“it&039;s e&039;en a ng, ng ti deed

s&039; i began to nick the thread,

an&039; choke the breath:

folk aun do thg for their bread,

an&039; sae aun death

“sax thoand years are near-hand fled

s&039; i was to the butchg bred,

an&039; ony a sche va&039;s been id,

to stap or scar ;

till ane hornbook&039;s ta&039;en up the trade,

and faith! he&039;ll waur

“ye ken hornbook i&039; the cchan,

deil ak his kg&039;s-hood spleuchan!

he&039;s grown sae weel acat wi&039; buchan

and ither chaps,

the weans haud out their frs ugh,

an&039; pouk y hips

“see, here&039;s a scythe, an&039; there&039;s dart,

they hae pierc&039;d ony a galnt heart;

but doctor hornbook, wi&039; his art

an&039; cursed skill,

has ade the baith no worth a f-t,

dan&039;d haet they&039;ll kill!

“&039;as but yestreen, nae farther gane,

i threw a noble throw at ane;

wi&039; less, i&039; sure, i&039;ve hundreds s;

but deil-a-care,

it jt py&039;d dirl on the bane,

but did nae air

“hornbook was by, wi&039; ready art,

an&039; had sae fortify&039;d the part,

that when i looked to y dart,

it was sae bnt,

fient haet o&039;t wad hae pierc&039;d the hear