Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/I met twa Cronies

I Met Twa Cronies.

I met twa cronies late yestreen Wham blythe I've aft been wi';And ilka mind soon felt inclined To taste the barley-bree:We sat sae late, and drank sae deep, That roarin' fon' gat we;And haith! I found, when I gaed hame, My wife had ta'en the gee.

All lanely by the fire she sat, Her brows hung owre her e'e;And wistful hushed she aye the bairn, Though sleeping on her knee—I saw the storm was masking fast, That soon wad fa' on me;Sae quietly slipt I aff to bed, And left her in the gee.

Neist day her looks were sour and sad, And ne'er a word spak she;But aye the tear-drap gathered big, And dimmed her bonnie e'e:Quo' I, "My dear, what's past let gang, And frown nae mair on me,The like again I'll never do, Gin ye'll ne'er tak' the gee!"

When this she heard, her brows she raised, And down beside me sat;I kissed her, for her heart was fu', And, puir wee thing! she grat:Quo' she, "Gin ye'll but keep your word, And bide at hame wi' me—Hae, there's my han', that, while I Jive, I'll never tak' the gee!"

Then let us ca', and pay our drap, And toddle while we do;For gin we drink anither bowl We'll a' get roarin' fou';My wifie's smile is aye sae kind, When blythe or pleased is she,To anger her wad be a sin, Or gar her tak' the gee!