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XII.

THE Smith he fwore be Rude and Raip,

Intill a Gallows mot I gaip,

Gif I ten Days win Pennies three,
For laik of Ale I Water laip:

Quod Nic, Thoull get far les with me.
XIII.

A Minstrel faid, the Feynd me ryve,
Gif I do ocht but drink and yve.

The Deil faid, Hardly mot it be,
Exerce that Craft throu all thy Lyfe,
And thouill be fure to cum to me,

XIV.

A Dycer bad, with Words of Stryf,
The Deil cum ftick him with a Knyf;
But he keft up fair Syces three:
The Deil faid, Endit is thy Lyfe,

Renunce thy Creid, and cum to me.
XV.

A Theif faid, Ill that eir I chaip,
Nor a stark Woddy gar me gaip,
But I in Hell for Geir wald be.
The Deil faid, Welcome in a Raip,

Gae lift a Cow, and cum to me.

XVI.

THE Fish-Wyves flet, and swore with Granes,

Jad to Auld-nick fauld Flesh and Banes,

And gaif them with a Schout on hie. The Deil cryd, Welcome all attaines, Sling by zour Creils, and cum to me.

XVII.

METHOCHT the Deils as blak as Pik,
Solifand were as Beis thick,

Ay tempand Folk with Ways flie,
Rounand to Robin and to Dick,

Renounce zour Creid, and cum to me.

Quod DUNBAR.

THE

Claith - Merchant.

Or a Ballat made on Jonet Reid, Jean Violet and Anna Whyt, being flight Women, and Taverners.

Ο

F Collours cleir,

I.

Quha lykes to weir,

Are mony Sorts into this Toun,

Grene, Zellow, Blew,

And ilka Hew,

Baith Paris Black, and Inglis Broun ;

Braw London Sky,

Quha lykes to buy,

Colour de Roy is clene laid down,

And Dunde Gray

This

mony a Day

Is lichilyt baith be Lad and Lous,

II.

BUT ftanch my Fyking,

And ftryd my Lyking,

Are feimly Hews for Simmer Play;

Din dipt in Zellow

For ilka gude fallow,

As Will of Qubyt-hauch bad me fay;

I will not deny it

To them that will buy it, For Silver nane fall be faid nay;

Ze neid not plenze,

It will not ftenzie.

Suppofe ye weit it Nicht and Day.

AND I have Qubyt

Of great Delyt,

III.

And Violet quha lykes to weir,

Weil wearand Reid

Till ze be dead;

It fall not failzie, tak ze no Feir.

The Quhyt is gude,

And richt weil lued,

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My Violet faft,

Quhen ye have coft,

Will ply lyk Satin to zour Theis,

Sure be my witting

Not burnt in the Litting,

Suppofe baith Lads and Limmers leis.

V.

Or thir thrie Hews.

I haif left Clews,

To be our Court-Alen Winter Weid,

We'll twynt and smal,

The best of them all

May weir the Claith for Woul and Threid;

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