“Think, wicked sinner, wha ye’re skaithing, it’s just the bue-gown badge an’ claithing o’ saunts;…”.
“I’ve sent you here some rhyming ware, a’ that I bargain’d for an’ mair;…”.
“It pits me aye as mad’ s a hare; so I can rhyme nor write nae mair;…”.

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