11
Yet wou’d hae gien my half year’s fee,
Had Maggy then been jesting me,
Had tartan purry, meal an’ bree,
Or butt’ry brose,
Been kilting up her petticoats
Aboon her hose.
But time, that tries such praticks past,
Brought me out o’er the coals fu’ fast;
Poor Maggy took a sudden blast
An’ o’er did tumble,
For something in her wame, at last,
Began to rumble.
Our fouk caud it the windy gravel,
That grips the guts beneath the navel,
But faith she was for to unravel
Their gross mistake,
Weel kend she, that she was in travel
Wi’ little Jack.
But, to put matters out of doubt,
Young John within wou’d fain been out,
An’ but an’ ben made sic a rout
Wi’ hands an’ feet,
That she began, twa-fald, about
The house to creep.
Then dool an’ sorrow' interveen’d;
For Jack nae langer cou’d be screen,d;
My lass upon her breast she lean’d,
An’ gae a skirl!
The canny wives came there conveen’d
A’ in a whirl.
