Recitativo

So sung the bard--and Nansie's wa's Shook with a thunder of applause, Re-echo'd from each mouth: They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds, They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, To quench their lowan drouth. Then owre again, the jovial thrang, The poet did request, To loose his pack an' wale a sang, A ballad o' the best; He rising, rejoicing, Between his twa Deborahs Looks round him, an' found them Impatient for the chorus.