Page:Watty and Meg, or, The wife reformed (7).pdf/5

 Sic a life nae flesh endures— Toilin’ like a slave to sloken You, ye dyvor! and your ’hores!

Rise! ye drucken beast o’ Bethel! Drink’s your night and day’s desire: Rise, this precious hour, or faith I’ll Fling your whisk i’ the fire!"

Watty heard her tongue unhallowed, Pay’d his groat wi’ little din, Left the house, while Maggy fallow’d Fly ting a’ the road behin'.

Folk frae every door cam’ lampin’, Maggy curst them ane and a’, Clappit wi’ her ban’s and stampin’, Lost hear 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, Kicken stools and chairs about.

"Ye’ll sit wi’ your limmers round you, Hang you, Sir, I’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 durst na speak, Sat, like patient Resignation, Trembling by the ingle cheek.

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