sair to thole;--I'll try some witchcraft art,
To break with ane, and win the other's heart.
Here Mausy lives, a witch that for sma' price
Can cast her cantraips, and gie me advice.
She can o'ercast the night, and cloud the moon,
And make the deils obedient to her crune;
At midnight hours, o'er the kirk-yard she raves,
And howks unchristen'd weans out of their graves;
Boils up their livers in a warlock's pow;
Rins withershins about the hemlock low;
And seven times does her prayers backwards pray,
Till Plotcock comes with lumps of Lapland clay,
Mixt with the venom of black taids and snakes:
Of this unsonsy pictures aft she makes
Of ony ane she hates,--and gars expire
With slow and racking pains afore a fire,
Stuck fu' of pins; the devilish pictures melt;
The pain by fowk they represent is felt.
And yonder's Mause: Ay, ay, she kens fu' weel,
When ane like me comes rinning to the deil!
She and her cat sit beeking in her yard:
To speak my errand, faith, amaist I'm fear'd!
But I maun do't, tho' I should never thrive:
They gallop fast that deils and lasses drive.

* * * * *

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.

MAUSE.
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.

MAUSE.
Of what kind wisdom think ye I'm possest,
That lifts my character aboon the rest?

BAULDY.
The word that gangs, how ye're sae wise and fell,
Ye'll maybe tak it ill gif I should tell.

MAUSE.
What folk say of me, Bauldy, let me hear;
Keep naething up, ye naething have to fear.

BAULDY.