Sae ready wi' hands and wi' tongue;
Proud Paty and silly Sam Foster,
Wha quarrel wi' auld and wi' young:
And Hugh the town-writer, I'm thinking,
That trades in his lawerly skill,
Will egg on the fighting and drinking
To bring after-grist to his mill;
And Maggy--na, na! we'll be civil,
And let the wee bridie a-be;
A vilipend tongue is the devil,