Page:Watty and Meg, or, The wife reform'd.pdf/5

 Rise, this precious hour! or faith I’ll
 * Fling your whisky in the fire.

Watty, heard her tongue unhallow’t
 * Pay’t his groat wi’ little din;

Left the house, while Maggy followed,
 * Flyting a’ the road behin’.

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

Clappit wi’ her hands and stampin,
 * Lost her bauchles in the snaw.

Hame, at length she turned the gavel,
 * wi’ a face as white’s a clout,

Raging like a very devil
 * kickan stools and chairs about.

Ye’ll sit wi your limmers round you!
 * hang you, sir! I’ll be your death;

Little hauds my hauns confound you!
 * but I cleave you to the teeth.

Watty, wha midst this oration,
 * eyed her whiles, but durstna speak,

Sat like patient Resignation,
 * trembling by the insle cheek.

Sad his wee drap brose he suppet,
 * Maggy’s tongue gaed like a bell,

Quietly to his bed he slipp’t,
 * sighin aften to himsel,

Nane are free frae some vexation, ilk ana has his ills to dree; But through a the hale creation,