Page:Watty and May, or, The wife reclaimed.pdf/9

9 THE LOSS 0’ THE PACK.

A TRUE TALE.

BOUT-GATES I hate, quo’ girning Maggy Pringle, Syne harled Watty, greeting, through the ingle, Since this fell question seems sae lang to hing on, In twa-three words I’ll gie ye my opinion.

I wha stand here, in this bare scoury coat Was ance a packman wordy, mony a groat: I’ve carried packs as big’s your meikle table ; I’ve scarted pats, and sleepit in a stable : Sax pounds I widna’ for my pack ance ta’en, And I could bauldly brag ’twas all mine ain.

Aye! thae were days indeed, that gart me hope, Aiblins, through time to warsle up a shop : And as a wife aye in my noddle ran, I ken’d my Kate wad grapple at me than. O Kate was past compare ! sic cheek ! sic een ! Sic smiling looks, were never, never seen. Dear, dear I lo’ed her, and whane’er we met, Pleaded to have the bridal day but set : Stappit her pouches fu’ o’ prins and laces. And thought mysel’ weel paid wi’ twa-three kisses. Yet still she put it aff frae day to day, And aften kindly in my lug wad say, “A half year langer is na unco stop, We’ll marry then, and syne set up a shop.”

O, Sir, but lasses words are saft and fair, They soothe our griefs, and banish ilka care ; Wha widna toil to please the lass he lo’es ? A lover true minds this in a’ he does. Finding her mind was thus sae firmly bent, And that I couldna get her to relent, There was nought left, but quietly to resign, To heeze my pack for a lang hard campaign ; And as the Highlands was the place for meet, I ventured there in spite of wind and weet.

Cauld now the Winter blew, and deep the sna’ For three haill days incessantly did fa’, Far in a muir, amang the whirling drift, Whar nought was seen but mountains and the lift,