By loss o' blood or want o' breath,
This night I'm free to tak my aith oath
That Hornbook's skill
Has clad a score i' their last claith, cloth
By drap and pill.
‘An honest wabster to his trade, weaver by
Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, fists
Gat tippence-worth to mend her head
When it was sair; aching
The wife slade cannie to her bed, slid quietly