My master was an auld Batch,
Baith crabbed and uncivil:
Than kiss a lass, (except when fou’)
He'd sooner kiss the d———l.
An’ he had gowd and sil’er baith,
As meikle’s fill a barrel;
A gaudy house, an’ grand estate,
Might serve a duke or earl.
But woman’s ways he coudua thole—
The cause o’ a disasters;
He’d sneer, an’ jeer, an’ curse the sex,
And ca’ them downright wasters.
But then, again, when he was fu’,
His love was overbearing;
He’d kiss an’ slake about my mou’,
Nae wife nor sil’er fearing.
As I was growing auld mysel’,
And lovers growing scanty,
I thought upon my master’s house,
His gear an’ sil’er plenty.
So I got witnesses ae night,
When he was reeling rarely,
To hear his tender promises,
An’ see us bedded fairly.
He sought me to his chamber ha’,
And troth, I didna swither;
But gave a sweet complying smile,
An’ aff to bed thegither.
But oh! that morn when he awoke!
Ere he could weel consider,
He drew his arms frae ’bout my neck,
As if he’d touch’d an adder!
“Weel, Bet!” says he, what brings you here
My troth, but you're a trimmer!
Gae, rise, an’ mend the kitchen fire,
You lewd lascivious limmer!”
“ Na, na, gudeman! do that yoursel’—
I’ll rise when I am ready;
I was your servant yesterday,
But now I am your lady!”
But wha could paint his waspish face,
As I the facts were telling!
His miser-moaus, his sil’er-shrieks,
Were like a cuddy’s yelling!
Wi’ rage, he fell upon the floor,
And gi’ed a roar like thun’er;
But matrimony’s chains are strong—
There’s few they’ll not keep un’er.
Now since his single woes are past,
An’ he has got a baby,
His looks hae quite anither cast,
His dress is never shabby.
An’ aye he blesses Bet his wife,
The night she nail’d him till her,
An’ wadna be a Batch again
For a' his lan’ an’ sil’er.