4
For a wee I quietly knuckl’t,
But whan naething would prevail,
Up my claes and cash I buckled,
Bess, for ever fare-ye-weel.
Then her din grew less and less aye,
Haith I gart her change her tune,
Now a better wife than Bessy
Never stept in leather shoon.
Try this, Watty—when you see her
Raging like a roaring flood,
Swear that moment that you'll lea' her,
That's the way to keep her good.'
Laughing, sangs, and lasses' skirls,
Echoed now out-through the roof,
‘ Done! quo' Pate, and syne his erls
Nailed the Dryster's wauked loof.
In the thrang of stories telling,
Shaking hauns, and ither cheer.
Swith! a chap comes on the hallan,
‘ Mungo, is our Watty here?’
Maggy's weel kent tongue and hurry,
Darted through him like a knife,
Up the door flew—like a fury,
In came Watty's scawling wife.
‘ Nasty, gude-for-naething being!
O ye snuffy, drucken sow,
Bringing wife and weans to ruin,
Drinking here wi' sic a crew!
Devil nor your legs were broken,
Sic a life nae flesh endures,
Toiling like a slave to sloken
You, ye dyvor, and your whores.
