5 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 ye'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, Faith! 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 scaul'ing 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 eudures, Toiling like a slave to sloken You, ye dyvor, and your whores.