On J-hn M-r-ne, Laird of L-gg-n
When M-r-ne, deceased, to the devil went down,
'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown:
Thy fool's head, quoth Satan, that crown shall wear never;
I grant thou'rt as wicked—but not quite so clever.—
'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown:
Thy fool's head, quoth Satan, that crown shall wear never;
I grant thou'rt as wicked—but not quite so clever.—
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