8
He tells me my beauty has kindled a flame—
My aunt wad gang daft if she kenn'd it,—she kenn'd it—
My aunt wad gang daft if she kenn'd it.
Twas only yestreen like a statue I sat,
When to hand me the kettle he hurried,
Ho trod on the tail o' my aunt's tabby cat,
She raved sae, I wished the brute worried—brute worried—
She raved sae I wished the brute worried.
To-morrow she'll scandal the hale o'the sex,
And ca' me the vilest o' ony:
For I'll bid her guid day ere the sun's in the east
And off to the Highlands wi' Johnny—wi' Johnny—
And aff to the Highlands wi' Johnny.
Disaster of the Irishman's Wife
At a Scotch Fair.
"I was broke down from being a decent Swatiewife to cry praties, for it was by the hands of Mikee McEvoy, my husband that my cap was tore aff my head intil tatthers; throth you micht riddle bull-dogs thro it. And my hair-kim was broke intil three halves!!!!
