Page:Dominie depos'd.pdf/15

 The auld mou’d wives thus did me taunt,

Tho’ a’ was true, I must needs grant,

But ae thing maistly made me faint,

Poor Meg lay still,

An’ look’d as loesome as a saint

That kend nae ill.

Then a’ the giglets young and gaudy,

Sware by their sauls, I might be wady,

For getting sic a lusty laddy,

Sae like mysell;

An’ made me blush wi’ speaking baudy,

’Bout what befel.

Thus auld and young their verdict had,

’Bout Maggy’s being brought to bed;

I thought my fill, yet little said,

Or had to say,

To reap the fruit o’ sic a trade

On gude Yule-day

What sometimes in the mou’ is sweet,

Turns bitter in the wame;

I grumbl’d sair to get the geet,

At sic a merry time.

Now Maggy’s twasome in a swoon,

A counsel held condemns the lown,

The cushle mushle thus gaed roun’,

Our bonny Clark,

He’ll get the dud an’ sacken gown,

That ugly sark.