A glass an’ bottle by me;
Baith ale and porter, when I please,
To treat the lasses slily.
Some ca’ me wild an’ roving youth;
But sure they are mistaken:
The maid wha gets me, of a truth,
Her bread will ay be baken.
A
POEM
ON
CONTENTMENT.
INSCRIBED TO JANET NICOL, A POOR OLD
WANDERING WOMAN, WHO LIVES BY THE WALL
AT LOUDOUN AND USED SOMETIMES TO
BE VISITED BY THE COUNTESS.
O JANET, by your kind permission,