AND ANGLING SONGS. 319 



Mirk spangles an' reid, 



Frae his tail to his heid. 



In number ayont comprehension. 



in. 



Sic a swasher, I ween, 



Is rare to be seen, 

 An' no to be grippit wi' thinkin' ; 



It gars ilka chiel 



Lay his loof on his reel, 

 An' sets e'en the wisest a-blinkin'. 



IV. 



Auld Purdie cam' doon 



Ae braw afternoon, 

 (Ilk angler tak's wale o' his weather,) 



Quoth he, 'I'll sune bring 



The rogue to the spring, 

 An' teach him the taste o' a feather !' 



v. 



Sae e'en he set till't, 



Like ane muckle skill 't, 

 But faith ! let the braggin' come last o't ; 



Frae the mirk to the dawin', 



In spite o' his crawin', 

 He ne'er could mak' out the richt cast o't. 



VI. 



There was Foster and Kerss, 



An' a chiel frae the Merse 

 Wad set a' the water a-seethin' ; 



Watty Grieve an' Jock Hay 



Cam' ower the way, 

 Wi' Scougal o' fair Innerleithen. 



