Watty and Meg, or, The wife reformed (2)

by Alexander Wilson (1766-1813)

WATTY AND MEG:

OR, THE

WIFE REFORMED.

FALKIRK:

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

WATTY AND MEG.

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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;
Oh! I wish I had been halter'd
⁠When I married Maggy Howe!

I've been poor, and vex'd and raggy,
⁠Try'd wi' troubles no that sma';
Them I bore—but marrying Maggy
⁠Laid the cape-stane o' them a'.

Night and day she's ever yelping,
⁠Wi' the weans she ne'er can gree:
When she's tir'd wi' perfect skelping,
⁠Then she flees like fire on me.

See ye, Mungo! when she'll clash on
⁠Wi' her everlasting eleek,
Whiles I've had my nieve, in passion,
⁠Lifted up to break her back!”

“O for gudesake keep frae cuffets!"
⁠Mungo shook his head and said;
“Weel, I ken what sort o' life it's;
⁠Ken ye, Watty, how I did?

After Bess and I were kippled,
⁠Soon she grew like ony bear,
Brak my shins, and when I tippled,
⁠Haurl't out my very hair!

For a wee I quietly knuckled;
⁠But when naething could 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 ye 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,
⁠Echoes now out through the roof:
"Done!" quo' Pate, and syne his erls,
⁠Nail'd the Dryster's wauket loof.

In the thrang o’ 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 flog—like a fury
⁠In came Watty's scalding wife.

"Nasty, gude-for-naething being!
⁠O ye snuffy drucken sow!
Bringing wife and weans to ruin,
⁠Drinking here wi’ sic a crew!

Deevil nor your legs were broken!
⁠Sic a life nae flesh endures;
Toiling like a slave to slocken
⁠You, ye dyvour, and your whores!

Rise, ye drucken beast o' Bethel!
⁠Drink's your night and day's desire:
Rise, this precious hour! or, faith, I'll
⁠Fling your whisky i‘ the fire"

Watty heard her tongue unhallow‘d,
⁠Pay'd his groat wi' little din,
Left the house, while Maggy fallow'd,
⁠Flyting a' the road behin'.

Fowk frae every door cam lamping,
⁠Maggy curst them ane an a',
Clappet wi' her hands, and stamping
⁠Lost her bauchles i‘ the snaw.

Hame, at length, she turn'd the gavel,
⁠Wi' a face as white's a clout,
Raging like a very deevil,
⁠Kicking stools and chairs about.

"Ye'll sit wi' yours 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,
⁠E'ed her whiles, but durstna speak,
Sat like patient Resignation,
⁠Tremʻling by the ingle cheek.

Sad his wee drap brose he sippet,
⁠Maggy's tongue gaed like a bell,
Quietly to his bed he slippet,
⁠Sighing aften to himsel‘.

"Nane are free frae some vexation,
⁠Ilk ane has his ills to dree;
But through a' the hale creation
⁠Is a mortal vex'd like me!"

A' night lang he row't and gaunted,
⁠Sleep or rest he cou'dna tak;
Maggy, aft wi' horror haunted,
⁠Mum'ling, started at his back.

Soon as e’er the morning peepet,
⁠Up raise Watty, waefu’ chiel;
Kist his weanies, while they sleepet,
⁠Wauken’d Meg and sought fareweel.

"Fareweel Meg!—And oh! may Heaven
⁠Keep you aye within his care:
Watty’s heart ye’ve lang been greiving,
⁠Now he’ll never fash you mair.

Happy cou’d I been beside you,
⁠Happy, baith at morn and e’en:
A’ the ills that did e’er betide you,
⁠Watty aye turn’d out your frien’.

But you ever like to see me
⁠Vext and sighing, late and air;
Fareweel, Meg! I’ve sworn to lea’ thee,
⁠So thou’lt never see me mair."

Meg, a’ sabbing sae to lose him.
⁠Sic a change had never wist,
Held his hand close to her bosom,
⁠While her heart was like to burst.

"O, my Watty, will you lea’ me,
⁠Frien’less, helpless, to despair!
O! for this ae time forgie me;
⁠Never shall I vex you mair."

"Ay! ye’ve aft said that, and broken
⁠A’ your vows ten times a week,
No, no! Meg! see there’s a token
⁠Glittering on my bonnet cheek.

Owre the seas I march this morning,
⁠Listed, tested, sworn, and a’,
Forc'd by your confounded girning—
⁠Farewell, Meg! for I'm awa."

Then poor Maggy's tears and clamour
⁠Gush'd afresh, and louder grew;
While the weans wi’ mournfu' yamour,
⁠Round their sabbing mother flew.

"Thro' the yirth I'll waunner wi' you—
⁠Stay, O Watty! stay at hame:
Here upo' my knees I'll gi'e you
⁠Ony vow you like to name.

See your puir young lammies pleading,
⁠Will you gang and break our heart?
No a house to put our head in!
⁠No a friend to take our part!"

Ilka word came like a bullet;
⁠Watty's heart began to shake;
On a kist he laid his wallet,
⁠Dighted baith his een and spake.

"If anee mair I cou'd, by writing,
⁠Lea' the sodgers and stay still,
Wad ye swear to drap your fliting!”
⁠"Yes, O Watty! yes I will."

"Then," quo' Watty, "mind be honest;
⁠Aye to keep your temper strive:
Gin you break this dreadfu' promise,
⁠Never mair expect to thrive.

Marget Howe? this ⟨hour⟩ ye solemn
⁠Swear, by ever thing that's gude,
Ne'er again your spouse to scal' him,
⁠While life warms your heart and blood.

That ye'll ne'er in Mungo's seek me—
⁠Ne'er put drucken to my name—
Never out at e'ening steek me—
⁠Never gloom when I come hame.

That ye'll ne'er, like Bessie Miller,
⁠Kick my shins, or rug my hair—
Lastly, I'm to keep the siller,
⁠This upo' your saul you swear?"

"O—h!" quo' Meg;—"Aweel, quo' Watty,
⁠"Fareweel! faith, I'll try the seas."
"O stand still," quo' Meg, and grat aye;
⁠"Ony, ony way ye please."

Maggy syne, because he prest her,
⁠Swore to a' things owre again:
Watty lap, and danc'd, and kist her,
⁠Wow! but he was won'rous fain.

Down he threw his staff victorious;
⁠Aff gaed bannet, claes, and shoon;
Syne below the blankets glorious,
⁠Held anither hinny moon.

FINIS.