'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell How monie stories passed, An' how they crouded to the yill, When they were a' dismissed; How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, Amang the furms an' benches, An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, Was dealt about in lunches An' dawds that day.

Yill, ale.

Willie Christie tells them wha dinna ken, that he has a public house, first door down Libbertown Wynd, in the Lawn Market, whaur he keeps the best o' stuff; gude nappy Yill frae the best o' Bruars in big bottels an' wee anes, an' Porter frae Lunnon o' a' sorts; Whuske as gude as in the Toun, an o' a' strength, an' for cheapness ekwall to ony that's gaun.

"Anent the yill," said Betty.

"Na, na," said Betty, "far frae that; I only want your kin' han' to get in yill again as they can drink.

"Ye mun ken, Sir, that o' a' the leddies frae the Lammermuir, that hae been comin' and gaen, there was an auld rudas wife this fair, an' I'm certie she's witched the yill; and ye mun just look into ye'r buiks, an' tak off the withchin!"