University of Virginia Library

EPITAPH ON AULD JANET.

A whore's a pitfal, and a scold's a rod;
An honest wife's a noble work of God!

Clean dead an' gane—beneath this stane
Auld Janet lies, o' Torry;
Life warm'd her blude, an' hale she stood,
Till Time saw her right hoary.
Weel lo'ed by a', she gaed fu' braw,
Clean, snod, an' wondrous gawsey;
A sonsier dame, or sappier wame,
Ne'er hotcht alangst the cawsey.

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Her blythsome bield, to ilka chield
Wha bare a pack, was fenny;
Whare safe an' soun', they might lie down,
Syne rise an' pay their penny;
Till spitefu' Death clos'd up her breath,
An' a' our daffin hum'elt;
For, thro' the head he shot her dead,
An' down poor Janet tum'elt.
Ye pedlars now, O mournfu' view
This stane rear'd by a brither;
And as ye pass, greet owre the grass
That co'ers your auld kind mither;
For me—Oh deer! the waefu' tear
Starts at the dismal story;—
I'll gar ilk vale sad echoing wail,
That Janet's dead o' Torry.