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An' John will be a gaishen soon ;

His teeth are frae their sockets flown; The hair's peeld aff his head aboon;

His face is milk-an’-water grown; His legs, that firm like pillars stood,

Are now grown toom an' unco sma'; She's reaved him sair o' flesh an' blood,

o' mind, the warst of a'.

An' peace

May ilka lassie understand

In time the duties of a wife; But youth wi' youth gae hand in hand,

Or tine the sweetest joys o’ life. Ye men whase heads are turning grey,

Wha to the grave are hastin' on, Let reason a' your passions sway,

An' mind the fate o' Ettrick John.

Ye lasses, lightsome, blithe, an' fair,

affection win the hand; Ne'er stoop to lead a life o' care Wi' doited



gear or land.

When ilka lad your beauty slights,

An' ilka blush is broke wi' wae, Ye'll mind the lang an' lanesome nights

O'Nell, the lassie o' the Brae.


“Dear Doctor, be clever, an' fling aff your beaver,

Come, bleed me an' blister me, dinna be slow; I'm sick, I'm exhausted, my prospects are blasted,

An' a' driven heels o'er head, Doctor Monroe !" “ Be patient, dear fellow, you foster your fever;

Pray, what's the misfortune that troubles you so ?” “O, Doctor! I'm ruin’d, I'm ruin'd for ever

My lass has forsaken me, Doctor Monroe!

“I meant to have married, an' tasted the pleasures,

The sweets, the enjoyments from wedlock that flow; But she's ta’en another, an' broken my measures,

An' fairly dumfounder'd me, Doctor Monroe ! I am fool’d, I am dover'd as dead as a herring

Good sir, you're a man of compassion, I know; Come, bleed me to death, then, unflinching, unerring,

Or grant me some poison, dear Doctor Monroe !”

The Doctor he flang aff his big-coat an' beaver,

He took out his lance, an' he sharpen’d it so; No judge ever look'd more decided or graver

“ I've oft done the same, sir,” says Doctor Monroe, “For gamblers, rogues, jockeys, and desperate lovers,

But I always make charge of a hundred, or so.” The patient look'd pale, and cried out in shrill quavers,

“ The devil! do you say so, sir, Doctor Monroe ?”

“ O yes, sir, I'm sorry there's nothing more common;

I like it-it pays—but, ere that length I go,
A man that goes mad for the love of a woman

I sometimes can cure with a lecture, or so.”
Why, thank you, sir ; there spoke the man and the

friend too; Death is the last reckoner with friend or with foe, The lecture then, first, if you please, I'll attend to ;

The other, of course, you know, Doctor Monroe.”

The lecture is said-How severe, keen, an' cutting,

Of love an' of wedlock, each loss an' each woe,

The patient got up-o'er the floor he went strutting,

Smiled, caper'd, an’shook hands with Doctor Monroe. He dresses, an' flaunts it with Bell, Sue, an' Chirsty,

But freedom an' fun chooses not to forego;
He still lives a bachelor, drinks when he's thirsty,

An' sings like a lark, an' loves Doctor Monroe!

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