Page:Old maid and widow, or, The widow the best wife.pdf/21

In a’ their quarrels for the breeks,
The smile was dimplin’ in her cheeks;
Her gentle voice, an’ melting e’e,
Were sure to gar the lad agree;
Thus, while she ca’d him lord an’ master,
A kiss knit a’ his chains the faster!
About the haly days o’ Yule,
Ae night, her Johnny play’d the fool;
Into the change-house, o’er a bicker,
The lad took in his broe fu’ sicker;
He gaed to sell the humil cow,
An’ i’ the bargain soon gat fou’;
Play’d at the cartes, till cocks were crawin’,
Syne stackered hame, about the dawin’;
The blood was driblin’ o’er his chin,
Twa inch o’ bark peeled aff his shin;
His een, wi’ glaur, an’ gutters hod,
His bonnet, tint upo’ the road.
Such is the won’drous pith o’ maut;
That mornin’, a’ thing was a fau’t;
Rampagin’, thro’ the house he jumpit,
An’ chairs an’ stools on ither thumpit:
She clappit him, wi’ couthy smile,
An’ fleeched him up wi’ mony a wile;
Dight o’er his face-spread down the blanket
An’ him into her oxter clankit;