THE MEIRE OF COLLINGTOUN, NEWLY REVIVED. BEING Very delectable, pleasant, and inoffensive to any Reader.  
Compiled, and corrected by P.D.   depiction of a woman milking a cow and another woman churning milk 
Printed in the Year, 1662.   

THE MEIRE OF COLLINGTOUN.  

1.  
AN Hether-man, as I heard say,  
Sensyne I think a week or twain,  
Came cantly cracking out the way,  
none with him but his Meir:  
Who being late he bade her ride,  
And with a spur did jag her side,  
But ay the silly Meir bade bide,  
and further would not steir:   

2.  
But lay down on the fair high street,  
And, shooting out both head and feet,  
She meekly spoke these words so sweet,  
your spurring will not make it.  
Oft have I turst your Hither crame,  
And born yourself right ofttimes hame,  
With many toom and hungry wame,  
when thou hast been well packed.   

3.  
But now is come my fatal end,  
With you I may no further wend,  
To my sweet hussy me commend,  
and all the rest at hame.  
Oft have I born upon my banes  
Hath caused their beards all wag at anes,  
But now for me they may chew stanes,  
we'll never meet again.   

4.  
The silly Carl for woe he great,  
And down upon his arse he sat;  
The night was foul, he was all wat  
and perished of cauld.  
Yet with himself he did advise,  
Longer to sit he were not wise,  
Then prayed the silly Meir to rise,  
and draw her to some hauld:   

5.  
But, no more nor she had been dead,  
She could remove her from that stead:  
When he did press to lift her head,  
her arse fell down behind.  
Then in a grief he did her hail,  
And drugged both at mein and tail,  
And other parts he could best wail,  
than bade her take the wind.   

6.  
Then did he take forth of a wallat  
Some draff, whereon this Meir did mallat,  
Which fiercelier gart her lift her   
nor all the rest before.  
She eaten thereof with so good will,  
While, I wots well, she had her fill:  
When she was full, than she lay still,  
and would not eat no more:   

7.  
But start on foot, as it would be,  
None being there but she and he:  
The night was cold, and bitterly  
it blattered on of rain.  
The Carl was cold, the sooth to say,  
And fain he would have been away:  
For passed was the light of day,  
and night was come again.   

8.  
Yet with himself he did advise,  
Longer to sit he were not wise,  
Then prayed the silly Meir to rise,  
and drew her to some hold:  
Then, foot for foot, they went together,  
But oft she fell, the gate was slidder:  
Yet where to take her he did swidder,  
while at last, as he would,   

9  
He warily did her weise and wield  
To Collingtoun Broom, a full-good beild,  
And warmest als in all that field,  
and there he bade her hid her;  
For there if Duncan apprehend thee,  
With sore sad strokes indeed he'll end thee:  
I pray thee from his wrath defend thee,  
sign he sat down beside her,   

10.  
And bade good-night, my darling dear,  
My bread-winner this many a year:  
Alace that I should leave thee here,  
so wilsome of thy wain.  
Dear Master (quoth this Meir) ye shent you  
For my distemper to torment you:  
Sober thy kind heart and repent you,  
we'll never meet again.   

11.  
With this they shed, as I heard say,  
With many a shout and wail-away,  
Referring to a brannew day,  
to make her latter will.  
But truly, as the case befell,  
(And here the truth I mind to tell)  
They never met by twenty ell,  
that purpose to fulfil.   

12.  
By which arose right great dissension,  
Much deadly feed, and hot contention:  
For many, of a wrong intention,  
alleged some of her gear;  
And they before who never saw her,  
Nor in her life did ever knaw her,  
That they were of her kin did shaw her,  
as after ye shall hear.   

13.  
The Kairle went home a weary groom,  
But she, all night, among the broom,  
Lay still, both weary, faint and toom,  
while morn that it was day.  
Then forth came Duncan on the morrow,  
As he had been to ride on sorrow,  
With a long sting, which he did borrow,  
to chase the Meir away.   

14.  
He hit her two'r three routs indeed,  
And bade her pass sweith from this steed:  
If thou bide here i'll be thy dead,  
with that gave her a lounder,  
While mouth and nose rushed out of blood,  
She stackered also where she stood,  
For she was tint for fault of food,  
and so it was no wonder.   

15.  
Yet quoth this beast with heavy cheer,  
I pray you, Duncan, those me here  
Until the out come of the year,  
and then, if I grow better,  
I shall remove, I you affure,  
Though I were ne'er so weak or poor,  
And seek my meat through Currie Moor,  
as fast as I may swatter.   

16.  
When he perceived it was so,  
That from that part she could not go,  
Into a grief he passed her fro,  
and would no longer tarry:  
But sent Pet Peacock in a fray,  
For to have chaste this Meir away,  
With a long kent, as I heard say,  
and in a firrie fairy.   

17.  
Ran to the Mill and fetched the louder,  
Where with he hit her on the shoulder,  
While he danged all in grush like powder,  
he laid it on so sicker:  
Then from these bounds he bade her pack her,  
Or else he swore that he should wrack her:  
Then through the Meadow she did take her,  
as fast as she might bicker.   

18.  
But at the last, this beast, being poor,  
Long for to run could not endure,  
He did o'ertake her in fordel Moor,  
and put her in a Tether,  
Then laid upon her hoghs and heels,  
Commanding her to leave these fields,  
And bade her pass to Listoun shields,  
and peule among the Hither.   

19  
Yet, quoth this silly simple beast,  
I pray you, Pet, hear my request,  
Let me remain this night here-East,  
among the broom to rest me:  
And, on the morn, I thee behight,  
Two hours and more before daylight,  
I shall to Bavelaw take the flight,  
and tell how you have dressed me.   

20.  
Thus Petty, with her words contented,  
Did homeward go, and sore repent  
That he this beast had sore tormented,  
and in such manner dressed her;  
And she, both dolorous and wae,  
Came poorly creeping down the braes,  
With a sore skin, both black and blae,  
and there sat down to rest her:   

21.  
And there, from time that she sat down,  
For weatinesse she fell in swoon,  
And, ere she wakened, John Colhoun  
came on her with a blatter,  
Accompanied with old Pakes petoun  
And Richie March, who dwelled in Hatoun,  
And laid upon her with a battoun,  
while all her harns did clatter.   

22.  
To whom this beast all wo begon,  
Said, loving, honest, good, sweet John,  
Let me, but this one night, alone,  
and I wish nor I worry,  
Upon the morn, be I alive,  
If I dow either lead or drive,  
With dogs ye shall me rug and rive,  
if I make not for Currie.   

23.  
Thus he, bewailing her punition,  
Did leave her upon that condition,  
And she, but any requisition,  
came down to the killogie,  
Where she thought to have lodged all night,  
And ease her the best way she might:  
But a false lown soon saw that fighr,  
whose name was Willie Scrogie,   

24.  
Who came and took her by the beugh,  
And, with a rung both long and teugh,  
Laid on her, while she bled enough,  
and for dead left her lying  
Into a deadly swoon and trance,  
Bewailing fortunes variance,  
Her hard mislucks, and heavy chance,  
for help and pity crying.   

25.  
But what should any further speaking?  
For all her woeful cries and greeting,  
Her loving words and fair entreating,  
(these fellows were so tyked)  
To her they would make no supply,  
Nor yet let her remaining be  
Among them but two days or three,  
say to them what she liked.   

26.  
This silly beast, being thus confounded,  
So deadly hurt, misused and wounded,  
With miseent dogs so chased and wounded,  
in end directs a letter  
Of supplication, with John Aird,  
To purchase licence from the Laird,  
That she might bide about the yaird  
while she grew somewhat better.   

27.  
But he would not ways condescend  
To go the message she did send,  
For fear he should the Laird offend  
but bade her send John Durie.  
And when they were in all their doubts,  
A Messenger, whose name was Couts,  
(A vengeance light on all their snouts)  
came on her in a fury,   

28.  
Who did take forth his Sergeant's wand,  
And gave to her a straight command,  
The self same night to leave that land,  
or on the morn to burn her.  
Then was this beast so sore amazed,  
Into his face she glowred and gazed,  
And witted not well, she was so bazed,  
to what hand for to turn her:   

29.  
But fell down on her silly knees,  
And upwards lifting up her eyes,  
Said, Cou's, my misery thou sees,  
wherefore do not deride it:  
But ponder my distressed estate,  
How I am handled, and what gate,  
For I dow make no more debate:  
no longer can I bide it.   

30.  
Then did she, half-long in despair,  
Withdraw her to a place, even where  
She thought there should be least repair,  
and that none should come near her;  
But she got never perfect rest,  
Go where she list she was oppressed;  
Wherefore in end it was thought best  
with men away to bear her.   

31.  
And so Rob Rodger, in an anger,  
And Will Thomson, who ay bade hang her,  
By sting and ling they did up-bang her,  
and bure her down between them  
To Duncan's bourn, and there, but dread,  
They left her, and came home good speed:  
Ye would have laughen well, indeed,  
so pudled to have seen them;   

32.  
For Willie Thomson, well I ween,  
Fell in a pool o'er both the eyen,  
And never left a bit of him clean,  
so through the dubs him carried:  
And Rob, who took in hand to guide him,  
O'er both his lugs he fell beside him,  
Then stole away for shame to hid him,  
he was so well begaried.   

33.  
This being done, but any mair  
These two they left her lying there,  
Suppressed with dolour, grief and care:  
who made this protestation,  
If any person, far or near,  
Within this Parish, would compear,  
To lend her but ten shillings here,  
upon her obligation.   

34.  
When the cleck-geeses leave off to clatter,  
And Parasites to flietch and flatter,  
And Priests their Matine to pitter, patter,  
and thiefs from theft refrain:  
Or yet again, when there shall be  
No water in the Ocean sea,  
Then she that sum right thankfully  
should pay them home again.   

35.  
But oh! alace, for all her moan,  
In all these parts there was not one  
Would condescend to lend that loan  
for never one did mean her.  
And so, alace, she lay still there  
But meat and drink eight days and mair:  
It would have made a whole heart fair  
in that case to have seen her.   

36.  
Yet honest Antie, in the Place,  
Came and beheld her pale-cold face,  
And said, for evermore alace,  
I see thee so mischieved,  
Had I known of thy weariness,  
Thy misery and great distress,  
I should have helped more or less,  
and so thy straight relieved:   

37.  
I should have put thee in the Bank,  
Where nettles, grass and weeds grew rank,  
Where well thou might have filled thy flank,  
and fed among the willies:  
Or otherwise, to have rejoiced thee,  
Within the Ward I might have closed thee,  
Where well thou mightest have reposed thee  
among the Lairds best Fillies   

38.  
To whom this beast said soberly,  
Sweet Mistress, I most heartfully  
Do thank you for your courtesy,  
so friendly who hath used me,  
Who hath so lovingly reported,  
And also sweetly me comforted,  
And with your alms me supported,  
when all my kin refused me.   

39  
Yet more attoure, since there is none  
To whom that I can make my moan,  
But, sweet Mistress, to you alone,  
before those villains gore me;  
Though I have neither gear nor gains  
For to present you for your pains,  
If it perturb not all your brains,  
yet this one thing do for me,   

40.  
Go to the Cook with speedy haste,  
And run as fast as ye were chaste,  
And tell that I am dead almost,  
and if ye can allure him  
A dishfull of his broth to send me,  
Which from this cold night may defend me,  
And if it prove a help to mend me,  
upon my word assure him:   

41.  
When winter cold shall be but frost,  
And wives for mastery shall not boast,  
And men of Law wait on but cost,  
and Usurers take no gains,  
Or when ye shall see Pentland hills  
Being carried down among Leith Mills,  
Then I, with twenty and more good-wills,  
shall please him for his pains.   

42.  
This message Antie undertook,  
And speedily ran to the Cook,  
Who found him fitting in the nook:  
and, as she was desired,  
Requested him right earnestly  
To send this silly beast supply,  
And he again right thankfully  
did as he was required,   

43.  
And, without grudging or debate,  
Did send a meikle charger-plate  
Full of good broth hind down the gate,  
and bade her take a care odd.  
And with herself likewise conclude,  
That if she thought it wholesome food,  
And if it did her any good,  
the morn she should have mair odd.   

44.  
But fra the time this wraiked beast  
Perceived the broth go down her breast,  
Her tongue from crying never ceased,  
till she had made confession.  
And so came by Sir Thomas Grant,  
About the Shines who oft did haunt,  
Who thought if she did witness want  
to hear't, it were oppression.   

45.  
Wherefore he said unto this Meir,  
I see thy death approacheth near,  
Then see that thou be very clear  
for death to make thee ready;  
For I see, by thy visage pale.,  
Nothing but death for thee but fail:  
As freely then tell me your tale,  
as if I were your deddie.   

46.  
Then up she hooved her hinder heels,  
And said, (when she lay in the fields)  
Though ye with me should cast the creils,  
and of your help refuse me,  
I will no ways at all think shame,  
Though it be contrare to a good name,  
To you, sweet father, to proclaim  
how long time they did use me.   

47.  
My Master was a simple man,  
Who had nothing but what he won  
By cadging hither now and then:  
at Bavelaw was his winning.  
My hussy likewise was a wife  
Ay holding into sturt and strife,  
Who had nothing, during her life,  
but what she won by spinning.   

48.  
And I was towsled up and down,  
With hether-cadging to the Town,  
For fault of food whiles like to swoon,  
for all that ever I won them;  
But I think plain necessity  
Was it why so they used me,  
Wherefore I think assuredly  
I have no cause to ban them.   

49.  
But yet, because they used me so,  
I thought to make their hearts as woe,  
Once to the Butler I did go,  
postponing every peril,  
Where I found wrought but two sheep breeds,  
Some haggise bags, and two nolt heads,  
With two'r three pecks of sowing seeds  
well tramped in a barrel.   

50.  
I took the seeds where I thought best,  
With hunger being so sore oppressed,  
And eaten of them while they might last,  
when all the rest were fleeping:  
Sign privily I did me hy  
Into the stable near hand by,  
Which is the place wherein I lie,  
on hands and feet fast creeping.   

51.  
But oh, I dow not sleep a wink  
For drought, but came back to the bink,  
Where that I took a meikle drink;  
but it was very bitter,  
I trow my hussy Meg had pisht it,  
And up upon the bink had disht it,  
Oh if that I had never touched it,  
it gart me take the sk—.   

52.  
But good John Smith, my master dear,  
Upon the morn, ere day grew clear,  
Before his wife he did compear,  
and said to her, My Lady,  
Rise up. I pray you, with good speed,  
Hang on the Sowing: for, indeed  
I trow ye be right scant of bread,  
some hot thing soon make ready.   

53.  
The wife, expecting for none ill,  
Risen up, his bidding to fulfil,  
With merry heart and right good will,  
to make for some provision;  
But when she missed the seeds away,  
She witted not what to do or say,  
Cried many alas and wail-away,  
and said, John, in derision,   

54.  
I trow ye cry for your disjoon:  
When were ye wont to cry so soon?  
It is yourself this deed hath done,  
and that hath made conclusion  
Of all the seeds we got in Nortoun:  
Or else it hath been gleed Will Mortoun;  
Ill be his chance, his hap and fortune  
who hath wrought this confusion.   

55.  
When she was making all this mane,  
And had him told that all was gane,  
A race to her the Carl hath ta'en,  
as fast as he might bicker,  
And hit her such a stroke but dread,  
While he thought well she had been dead:  
For he had hit her on the head  
a sad stroke and a sicker.   

56.  
So when, with a long heavy rung,  
I did perceive my Hussie dung,  
I lay stone-still and held my tongue,  
and felon close I held me:  
For, if they had had any feel  
That I had made them such a reel,  
The one of them, I wots right well  
but question, would have felled me.   

57  
Now this is the worst turn, I say,  
That ever I did by night or day;  
Wherefore, sweet father, I you pray,  
since ye hear my confession,  
That, in this place, before I die,  
You grant me pardon cheerfully:  
For that, I wots assuredly,  
belongs to your profession.   

58.  
Then spoke this Father venerable  
To her this sentence comfortable,  
As I a man am trowable,  
I say this in submission,  
Since ye desire to be remitted  
Of all the faults ye have committed,  
(Now surely on the head I hit it)  
I grant you full remission.   

59  
Then was she blithe, and said, I think  
That I am one gins to wink,  
Sweet father, now take pen and ink,  
and write as I command you:  
For on my credit I dare swear  
It was some good thing brought you here;  
Recorded be the time and year,  
and day that ever I found you.   

60.  
And first writ, that it pleaseth me,  
My body be solemnedlie  
Laid in that place, with honesty,  
where lie my predecessors.  
I nominate my Master John,  
And his good-brother Tom Gillon,  
Executors to me alone;  
these two are no oppressors.   

61.  
I know they will do nought but right  
To me and mine: for many a night  
I did them pleasure, as I might,  
whereof you may assure them:  
For often times I would them take,  
Even as a Chapman doth his pack,  
Upon my silly feeble back,  
and through the dubs I bure them.   

62.  
I leave them therefore power all  
To meddle with debts great and small,  
And with all things in general  
that any way belangs me.  
First, I am owing to Andro Rid  
At the Westport, for six grey bread  
Five shilling, for the which indeed  
he and his wife ov'rgangs me.   

63.  
And, in my great necessity,  
Tom Linkie's wife she furnished me  
As me●kle draff, of verity,  
the last day of December,  
As, by the last count we did make,  
Came to five shilling and a plack,  
Well counted before old John Black.  
if I do right remember.   

64.  
There is a cankered Carle siklike,  
Whom I have born o'er many a Tike,  
They call him Jockey in the Dyke:  
(I had almost forgot it)  
Some nights, when I could not win hame,  
To tell the truth I think no shame,  
For draff and satlings to my wame  
six placs I am addebted.   

65.  
Now, so far as I understand,  
I own no more in all this land,  
But to a silly Collibrand,  
Tom Rid, that dwells in Currie:  
Upon a time, as he may prove,  
An Acheson for a remove:  
But it was little for my behoof,  
I pray nor he may worry.   

66.  
There is a man they call John Blair,  
Beside the Howps who makes repair,  
Him did I serve seven years and mair,  
but I saw never his coynzie:  
And in my need and poverty,  
My sickness and calamity,  
That same Carl never visit me;  
now pox light on his groynzie.   

67.  
The thing to me he is addebtit  
I purpose not o'er high to set it,  
It is, if I have not forget it,  
by our just calculation,  
Three pound, wherewith, but dilatours,  
I ordain my executours  
To gang amongst my creditors,  
and, to their contentation,   

68  
Off the first end, right cheerfully  
Content them all with honesty,  
Lest afterward they wary me,  
when I may not amend it:  
And to such as are destitute  
Of worldly goods, I constitute  
That all the rest be distribute,  
so soon's my life is ended.   

69.  
I have not meikle mair free gear,  
In very deed, to speak of here:  
But had I lived another year,  
if folks had been good willie,  
I had had more: yet will I shaw  
The thing I have, but any awe,  
I have into the Castle law  
a Meir, but and a Filly.   

70.  
My will is, and I leave the Meirie  
To one, they call him John Mackcliric,  
Because of foot he is not feirie,  
and may not deal with travel:  
For in his youth that Carl used ay  
With wenches for to sport and play,  
Wherethrough he hath, this many a day,  
been troubled with the gravel.   

71.  
I leave the Filly to John Kilmanie,  
An honest Master in Balenis,  
The which if it be poor and banie,  
yet, if it be well used,  
It will do good: for oft times said I,  
I might have had for it already,  
From my sweet masters lucky deddie,  
five crowns, which was refused.   

72.  
My halter and my four new shods,  
My turs-rapes, curpell, and my sods,  
I list not let them gang to odds,  
for that indeed would grieve me;  
I leave them therefore to Tom Stean,  
Who hath his winning on Smiddie-gre●n:  
For many a night, right late at even,  
that poor man did relieve me.   

73.  
My mane, my tail, and all my hair  
I leave, but any process mair,  
To Cheasly, Nol man and Tom Blair,  
three Fishers of vocation:  
For, oft times when it would be late,  
And might not make no more debate,  
These three would lodge me by the gate,  
and give me sustentation.   

74.  
I leave my bonny, round, white teeth  
To Willie Frissel into Lieth:  
For, on a time when Jennie Keith  
with plotted broe demaimed me,  
He fed me in his house, all hail  
Eight days with good flesh, broe and kaile,  
And oftentimes with bread and ail,  
where worse cheer might have gained me.   

75.  
To honest Antie in Collingtoun-Place,  
(My blessing light upon her face)  
Who was my friend in every case,  
I cannot well forget her,  
I leave her therefore, to her part,  
My true, my kind and tender heart:  
For, into many a grief and smart,  
of her I was the better.   

76.  
I leave the creish within my wame,  
With all my heart, to Finlay Grame:  
It will be better nor swine-same  
for any wramp or meinzie;  
First, shear it small, and rind it sign  
Into a kettle clean and fine,  
It will be good against the pine  
of any wrist or streinzie.   

77.  
I leave my liver, puds and tripes  
To the two brethren in the Snipes,  
Who, though they be but greedy gypes,  
yet, being once in Cramend  
Stormsted, and in great misery,  
For very hunger like to die,  
Did give me lodging cheerfully,  
and fed me well with Samond.   

78.  
My two grey eyes, like crystal clear,  
Wherefrom great brightness did appear,  
I leave, in this my Tessment here,  
to silly John Mackwhirrie:  
For, going wild into the night  
Beside Black-bavelaw on the height,  
He took me to an aile-house right,  
and made me to be merry.   

79.  
I leave my tongue Rhethoricall,  
My dulce voice, sweet and musical,  
And all my Science natural  
to good sweet Master Matho:  
For, when I was, with Mortoun Dogs.  
O'er bladded through their stanks and bogs;  
And had stood three days in the jogs,  
within the town of Ratho:   

80.  
He came, into a morning soon,  
And gave contentment, long ere noon,  
To all to whom I wrong had done,  
sign sent me with a letter,  
With expedition down to Cammock,  
Where that, for to refresh my stomach,  
I was received, and fed with drammock,  
eight days, and with the better.   

81.  
I leave my head to Sandy Perdie,  
A man, whereof I think him worthy:  
For once, when that I took the sturdy,  
that man, but any grudging,  
Made me great succour and supply,  
And used me right tenderly,  
And gave me food abundantly,  
two weeks within his lodging.   

82.  
I leave to Claud in Hermistoun,  
For his bounteth and warisoun,  
My hyde, with my brade bennisoun,  
to be a pair of bellies;  
For, when he found me lying sick  
At Gogar bridge, and dow not speak,  
Upon his back he did me cleik,  
and bore me to Laird Skeldies.   

83.  
To these fellows of Collingtoun,  
Who brought me to contention,  
I leave them my black malisoun;  
for here I do protest it,  
If these men had licentiat me  
To have had biding, two nights or three,  
Among the broom, where quietly  
I might have lain and rested,   

84.  
I had not then, with every Lown,  
With every Butcher up and down,  
Been bladded so from town to town,  
nor gotten such oppression;  
Nor yet had been in such a blunder,  
Nor made of such a world's wonder;  
I wish mae mischiefs nor a hunger  
on them and their succession.   

85.  
Now, sweet Sir Thomas, earnestly  
I pray you let me hear and see  
If that my Will and Legacy  
be done as I directed:  
For some suspicion even now bred I,  
That you are grieved, luckie-deddy,  
In that I have dispatched already  
my goods, and you're neglected.   

86.  
But surely, Sir, the reason why  
That I did so, and set you by,  
It was indeed, because that I  
knew not that you were needy:  
And next again, as reason shawes,  
I did it for another cause,  
Which is, that all the world knows  
that such men are not greedy.   

87.  
To whom Sir Thomas soberly  
Did answer make, and said, truly  
All things, as ye commanded me,  
are orderly perfected:  
Therefore of that take you no care,  
And of that matter speak no mair,  
Think on your sickness and your sair;  
as for your gear, I quite it.   

88  
Then for final conclusion,  
This poor beast on her knees fell down,  
And said, Sir, for my bennisoun,  
since death thinks to betray me:  
And since I clearly do perceive  
That, of my breath and all the leave  
Of the five senses that I have,  
death threatens to be wray me;   

89.  
I you beseech most earnestly,  
Of your gentrice and courtesy,  
To go to Bavelaw soon for me,  
and there, with expedition,  
Show to John Smith, my Master dear.  
That I am sore-sick lying here,  
At point of death, and dow not star,  
and make him requisition   

90.  
For to come down peremptorly  
The morn, about two hours or three,  
To Gorgie-Mill, where publicly  
I will repeat this sentence,  
That, I dare say in verity,  
It were great pleasure unto me  
That we should meet before I die,  
for honest old acquaintance.   

91.  
Sir Thomas then began to clatter,  
And told, that he would not ways flatter,  
But plainly to her show the matter,  
sign said to her, My dearie,  
Lie still and rest you; for I think  
That I shall neither eat nor drink,  
Nor with mine eyes shall sleep a wink,  
though I were ne'er so weary,   

92.  
While all and whole your last direction  
Be done and ended but defection:  
Then unto Pluto his protection  
he heartfully bequeathed her,  
And ran to Bavelaw with good will,  
Brought down John Smith to Gorgie, Mill,  
Who, so soon as he came her till,  
into his arms he caught her;   

93.  
And said, alace for evermair  
That I should see thee lying there  
So comfortless, both sick and fair,  
so helpless, poor and needy,  
So brnised and birsed, so black and blae,  
So ill demaimed from top to tae;  
Alace that I should leave thee sa,  
fie, is there no remcedy.   

94.  
Alace for evermore, alace!  
This is a dolorous doleful case  
To me, to see that well favoured  
face and countenance so guided:  
Now where are those two clear bright eyen  
Into thy head which I have seen,  
That now are made so yellow and green?  
oh! I cannot abide it.   

95.  
Oh and alace, and harms ay!  
Dolour and dool fell me this day:  
What shall I either do or say?  
this is a doleful meeting.  
To whom this Beast, with voice most weak,  
Said, Master, my heart do not break,  
Let sorrow be, some comfort take,  
I dow not bide your greeting:   

96.  
Your sighs, your sobs, your mourning sair  
Doth nothing but augment my care:  
Therefore desist and mourn na mair,  
with greeting ye are wracked;  
And since that ye, withouten swither,  
To visit me are come down hither,  
Be blithe, and let us drink together,  
for mourning will not make it:   

97.  
And since, sweet Master, that ye see  
That there is nought but death for me,  
I pray you take it patiently,  
since there is no redemption:  
And I do make you supplication,  
To carry home my commendation  
To all and whole the Congregation  
of Currie, but exemption.   

98.  
As for my goods, they're else divided,  
No part thereof is undecided,  
Except my spirit: and that, to guide it,  
I leave the King of Fairy,  
Perpetually for to remain  
In wilderness with his great train,  
And never to come back again,  
but in his court to tarry.   

99  
This speech thus ended, she sat down  
All comfortless, and fell a swoon,  
Where she, in that great passion,  
both heartless, faint and weary,  
With a great exclamation  
To Pluto making invocation,  
Did yield her spirit but molestation.  
Thus ended John Smith's Meirie.   

100  
Now have ye heard the Tragedy,  
The latter Will and Legacy  
Of this Meir, and the certainty,  
when, where, and how she ended:  
Which, though it be both groffe and rud,  
And of all eloquence denude,  
Yet, Sirs, imbraceed as it were go  
for I took pains to mend it.   
FINIS.