5
Rise! you drunken beast o' Bethel!
drink's your night and day's desires;
Rise this precious hour, or faith I'll
fling your whiskey i' the fire,"
Watty heard her tongue unhallow,
pay't his groat wi' little din;
Left the house, while Maggy fallow't,
flyting a' the road behin',
Fowk frae every door came lampin',
Maggy curst them ane and a';
Claupit wi' her hauns, and stampin',
lost her bauchles i' the sna',
Hame at length she turned the gavel,
wi' a face as whites a clout,
Ragin' like a very devil,
kicking stools and chairs about!
" Ye'll sit wi' your limmers round you!
hang you Sir ! I'll be your death!
Little hauds my hands, confound you!
but I'll cleave you to the teeth!"
Watty, wha 'midst this oration,
ey'd her whiles, but durstna' speak,
Sat like patient resignation,
trem'ling by the ingle cheek;
Sad his wee drap brose he sipper,
Maggy's tongue gaed like a bell;
Quietly to his bed he slippet,
sighan af'en to himsel';
" Nane are free frae some vexation,
ilk ane has his ills to dree;
