Page:Watty and Meg, or, The wife reformed (1).pdf/2



Keen the frosty winds were blawin,

Deep the snaw had wreath'd the ploughs,

Watty, wearied a' day sawin,

Dauner't down to Mungo Blue's.

Dryster Jock was sitting cracky,

Wi' Pate Tamson o' the hill,

Come awa, quo' Johnny, Watty,

Faith we'se hae anither gill.

Watty, glad to see Jock Jabos,

And sae mony neebours roun,

Kicket frae his shoon the snaw ba's,

Syne ayont the fire sat down.

Owre a broad, wi' bannocks heapit,

Cheese and stoups and glasses stood;

Some were roarin, ithers sleepit,

Ithers quietly chewd their cude.

Jock was sellin Pate some tallow,

A'the rest a racket hel',

A' but Watty, wha, poor fallow,

Sat and smoket by himsel.

Mungo fill'd him up a toothfu',

Drank his health and Meg's insane,

Watty, puffing out a mouthfu',

Pledg'd him wi' a dreary grane.

What's the matter, Watty, wi' ye?

Troth your chafts are fa'ing in,