WATTY AND MEG.
Keen the frosty winds were blawing,
Deep the snaw had wreath’d the ploughs,
Watty, wearied a’ day sawing,
Daunert down to Mungo Blue’s.
Dryster Jock was sitting cracky,
Wi’ Pate Tamson o’ the hill,
“Come awa,” quo’ Johnny, “Watty!
Haith we’se ha’e anither gill.”
Watty, glad to see Jock Jabos,
And sae mony neibours roun’,
Kicked frae his shoon the snaw ba’s.
Syne ayont the fire sat down.
Owre a board wi’ bannocks heapet,
Cheese, and stoups, and glasses stood;
Some were roaring, ithers sleepit,
Ithers quietly chew’d their cude.
Jock was selling Pate some tallow,
A’ the rest a racket hell,
A’ but Watty, wha, poor fallow!
Sat and smoket by himsel’.
Mungo fill’d him up a toothfu’,
Drank his health and Meg’s in ane,
Watty, puffing up a mouthfu',
Pledg'd him wi' a weary grane.
What’s the matter, Watty, wi’ you?
Trouth, your chafts are fa’ing in!
Something’s wrang—I'm vex'd to see you—
Gudesake! but your desp’rate thin!’
“Ay,” quo’ Watty, “things are alter’d,
But it's past redemption now;
