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emble! I see how folk live that hae riches; But surely poor folk maun be wretches! LUATH They're no' sae wretched's ane wad think, Though constantly on poortith's brink: [poverty's] They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, The view o't gi'es them little fright. Then chance and fortune are sae guided, They're aye in less or mair provided; An' though fatigued wi' close employment, A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. The dearest comfort o' their lives, Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives; [growing] The prattling things are just their pride, That sweetens a' their fireside. And whyles twalpenny-worth o' nappy [quart of ale] Can mak the bodies unco happy; [wonderfully] They lay aside their private cares To mind the Kirk and State affairs: They'll talk o' patronage and priests, Wi' kindling fury in their breasts; Or tell what new taxation's comin', And ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. [wonder] As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns They get the jovial rantin' kirns, [harvest-homes] When rural life o' every station. Unite in common recreation; Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social Mirth Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. That merry day the year begins They bar the door on frosty win's; The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream [ale, foam] And sheds a heart-inspiring steam; The luntin' pipe and sneeshin'-mill [smoking, snuff-box] Are handed round wi' right gude-will; The canty auld folk crackin' crouse, [cheerful, talking brightly] The young anes ranting through the house-- My heart has been sae fain to see them That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. Still it's owre true that ye hae said, Sic game is now owre aften play'd. [too often] There's mony a creditable stock O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, [well-doing] Are riven out baith root and branch Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster In favour wi' some gentle master, Wha, aiblins, thrang a-parliamentin', [perhaps, busy] For Britain's gude his soul indentin-- [indenturing] CAES
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