Page:Old maid and widow, or, The widow the best wife.pdf/22

Sair sick he grew— an’ white’s a clout;
He thought the house ran round about!
Neist afternoon, John hang his head,
While Mary smiled, an’ little said;
Till John wi’ her forbearance shamed,
His fau’ts, and folly frankly blamed.
‘O Mary, can your heart forgi’e me?
‘I wonder that ye thole to see me!
‘Wae-worth that drink!— made me a beast—
‘Insulted you— an’ me disgraced!
‘I said the cow to Francie Miller,
‘But to my shame— I’ve tint the siller!’
‘Dear John, wi’ keen repentance torn,
‘Your bosom needs na ither thorn,
‘I dinna count the siller lost—
‘Ye’ve bought some wit— an’ that’s the cost;
‘Sae lat it gang, we’ll never miss’t,
‘There’s mair ahint into the kist!’
They crackit looves, an’ measured mou’s,
New pleasure brightened Johnny’s brows:
Their stock increased, they took a farm,
An’ held a house baith snug and warm;
The poor fowk prayed to had them hale,
For milk, an’ bread, an’ sowns, an’ kail,
Were never missed at meltit time,
The back aft beetit wi the wame.