CHARMS

Prune your corn in the gray of the morn With a blade that’s shaved the dead, And barefoot go and hide it so The rain will rust it red: Dip your foot in the dew and put A print of it on the floor, And stew the fat of a brindle cat, And say this o’er and o’er:— Corny! morny! blady! dead! Gory! sory! rusty! red! Footsy! putsy! floory! stew! Fatsy! catsy! Mew! Mew! Come grease my corn In the gray of the morn! Mew! Mew! Mew!

Gae the mirkest night an’ stan’ ’Twixt twa graves, ane either han’; Wi’ the right han’ fumblin’ ken Wha the deid mon’s name’s ance be’n,— Wi’ the ither han’ sae read Wha’s neist neebor o’ the deid; An it be or wife or lass, Smoor tha twa han’s i’ the grass, Weshin’ either wi’ the ither, Then tha faice wi’ baith thegither; Syne ye’ll seeket at cockcraw— Ilka freeckle’s gang awa!