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Rh Stout gates of braſs, and well-built walls,

Are proof ’gainſt ſwords and cannon-balls;

But nought is found by ſea or land,

That can a wayward wife withſtand.

Sae bide you yet, &c.

I had a wee houſe, and a canty wee fire,

A bonny wee wifie to praiſe and admire,

A bonny wee yardie aſide a wee burn,

Farewel to the bocies that yammer and mourn

I’ll bide me yet, and I’ll bide me yet,

I little ken wat may betide me yet;

Some bonny wee body may be my lot,

And I’ll ay be canty wi thinking o’t.

When I gang a-field, and come hame at e’en,

I’ll get my wee wife ſou neat and ſou clean,

And a bonny wee bairnie upon her knee,

That will cry Papa or Daddy to me.

I’ll bide me yet, &c.

And if there ſhould happen ever to be

A diff’rence a-tween my wee wifie and me,

In hearty good humour, altho’ ſhe be teaz’d,

I’ll kiſs her, and clap her, until ſhe be pleas’ds