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THE MILLER’S WIFE.

Shot in his fork in chucky’s breast, Th'unwelcorne miller ga’e a roar, Cry’d, Bessy, haste ye, ope the door— With that the haly letcher fled, And darn'd himself behind a bed, While Bessy huddl’d a things by, That nought the cuckold might espy; Syne loot him in,—but out of tune, Speer’d why he left the mill so soon, I come, says he, as manners claims. To crack and wait on Master James, Whilk I should do tho' ne'er biffy; I sent him here, goodwife, where is he? 'Ye sent him here, cried Bessy (grumbling) Kend I this James. A led came rumbling, But who was I assur’d when dark, That he had been nae thievish spark, Or some rude wencher gotten a dose, That at a weak wife could ill oppose, And what came of him? speak nae langer. Cries Halbert, in a Highland anger: I sent him to the barn quoth she; Gae quickly bring him in, quoth he.

James was brought in—the wife was bawked— The priest stood close— the miller cracked— Then ask’d the sulkan gloomy spouse, What supper had the in the house. That might be suitable to gi’e Ane of their lodgers quality? Quoth she. Ye may weel ken, goodman, Your feast comes frae the pottage-pan: