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How does auld honest lucky of the glen?
Ye look baith hale end fair at threescore-ten.
MAUSE.
E'en twining out a thread with little din,
And beeking my cauld limbs afore the sun.
What brings my bairn this gate sae air at morn?
Is there nae muck to lead? to thresh nae corn?
BAULDY.
Enough of baith: but something that requires
Your helping hand employs now all my cares.
My helping hand! alake, what can I do,
That underneith baith eild and poortith bow?
BAULDY.
Ay, but you're wise, and wiser far than we;
Or maist part of the parish tells a lie.