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

5 Riſe! ye drunken beaſt o' Bethel;

Drink's your-night and day's delight;

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 fallow't,

Flyting a' the road behin'.

Fowk frae every door cam lampin',

Maggy curſt them ane and a';

Claupit wi' her hauns, and ſtampin",

Loſt her bauchles i' the ſna'.

Hame at length ſhe turn'd the gavel,

Wi' a face as white's a clout,

Ragin' like a vera devil,

Kicken ſtools and chairs about.

"Ye'll ſit wi' your limmers round you!

Hang you, Sir! l'll be your death!

Little hauds my hands, confound you!

But I cleave you to the teeth."

Watty, wha midſt this oration,

Ey'd her whiles, but durſtna ſpeak,

Sat, like patient Reſignation,

Trem'ling by the ingle cheek.

Sad his wee drap broſe he ſippet,

Maggy's tongue gaed like a bell,

Quietly to his bed he ſlippet,

Sighan af’en to himfel'.

"Nane are free frae ſome vexation,

Ilk ane has his ills to dree;

But, thro' a' the hale creation

Is a mortal vext like me?"