Nor stoups a’ froath aboon the hause,
Nor kept dow’d tip within her waws,
But reaming swats.
She ne’er ran sour jute, because
It gees the batts.”
Unfortunately I cannot follow him in his lamentation over John Cowper or Luckie Spence, or dwell on the part those worthies played in old Edinburgh life. An’ you be curious you must consult the original—unexpurgated. Let us quote our Allan on at least a quotable topic.
“Then fling on coals and ripe the ribs,
And beek the house baith but and ben,
That mutchkin stoup it hauds but dribs,
Then let’s get in the tappit hen.