The moral here is as lame as the meter, and in the open market to-day the “poem” is not worth fourpence. We finish the page with Bonie Ann:
Ye gallants bright, I red you right,
Beware of bonie Ann:
Her comely face sae fu’ o’ grace,
Your heart she will trepan.
Her een sae bright, like stars by night,
Her skin is like the swan;
Sae jimpy lac’d her genty waist,
That sweetly ye might span.
Youth, grace, and love, attendant move,