15
The auld mou’d wives thus did me taunt,
Tho’ a’ was true, I must needs grant,
But ae thing maistly made me faint,
Poor Meg lay still,
An’ look’d as loesome as a saint
That kend nae ill.
Then a’ the giglets young and gaudy,
Sware by their sauls, I might be wady,
For getting sic a lusty laddy,
Sae like mysell;
An’ made me blush wi’ speaking baudy,
’Bout what befel.
Thus auld and young their verdict had,
’Bout Maggy’s being brought to bed;
I thought my fill, yet little said,
Or had to say,
To reap the fruit o’ sic a trade
On gude Yule-day
What sometimes in the mou’ is sweet,
Turns bitter in the wame;
I grumbl’d sair to get the geet,
At sic a merry time.
———
PART III.
Now Maggy’s twasome in a swoon,
A counsel held condemns the lown,
The cushle mushle thus gaed roun’,
Our bonny Clark,
He’ll get the dud an’ sacken gown,
That ugly sark.
