Page:Watty & Meg, or, The wife reformed (1).pdf/5



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't,
 * Pay't his groat wi' little din,

Left the house, while Maggy follow't,
 * Flytin' a' the road behin'.

Fowk frae every door cam' lampin,
 * Maggy curst them ane an'a',

Clappet wi' her hauns, an' stampin',
 * Lost her bauchels i' the sna'.

Hame, at length, she turn'd the gavel,
 * Wi' a face as white's a clout,

Ragin' like a very devil,
 * Kickin' stools an' chairs about.

Ye'll sit wi' your limmers round!
 * Hang you, Sir! I'll be your death!

Little hauds my hauns, confound you!
 * But I'll cleave you to the teeth.

Watty, wha, 'midst this oration,
 * Ey'd her whyles, but durstna' speak,

Sat like patient Resignation,
 * Trem'lin' by the ingle cheek.

Sad, his wee drap brose he sippet,
 * Maggy's tongue gaed like a bell,

Quietly to his bed he slippet,
 * Sighin' aften to himsel'.

Nane are free frae some vexation,
 * Ilk ane has his ills to dree;