Page:Old maid and widow, or, The widow the best wife.pdf/10

Was she to fling her wealth awa’?
Her pigs an’ swine required it a’!
Into the rip, the eggs mith rotten,
For fint a shell wad Watty gotten;
Pease-scones, wi’ smoke, an soot thick blacket,
Kail-brose, an’ ’tatoes i’ their jacket,
Wi’ sowens, an’ crowdie, thro’ the simmer,
Was Watty’s stock o’ belly timmer.
The bits o’ hirdies, cauld an’ weet,
Near hand the fire durst never teet,
’Sweer smatchets!— gae and had you warm,
Out o’er a flail, into the barn!’
When Watty to a market gae’d,
He boot to tell what trock he made;
How muckle meal came frae the miller,
An’ mak’ account o’ a’ the siller.
When he went to a borrows-town,
If wi’ a nibour he sat down,
To crack, an’ drink their stable fees,
Kate stinted him to three baubees;
An’ if she fand he’d been transgressin’,
Poor chiel! he tholed a bonny lesson;
Although he’d sat the cutty-stool,
Mass-John wad spared him hauf the dool.
The chapman, wi’ his wallet trudgin’,
Wham Watty aft had gi’en a lodgin’,