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'For a wer I quietly knuckl't, 'but whan naething wou'd prevail,'Up my claes and cash I buckl't, 'Bess! for ever fair ye well.
'Then her din grew less and less aye, 'haith I gart her change her tune:'Now a better wife than Bessy never stept in leather shoon.
'Try this, Watty———Whan ye see her 'raging like a roarin flood,'Swear that moment that you'll lea' her; 'that's the way to keep her gude.'
Laughing, sangs, and lasses' skirls, echo'd now out thro' the roof,Done: quo Pate, and syne his arles nail't the Dyster's wauket loof.
I' the thrang o' stories telling, shaking hauns and ither cheer;Swith! a chap comes on the hallan, 'Mungo! is our Watty here?'
Maggie's weel kend tongue and hurry, darted thro' him like a knife;Up the door flew———like a fury in came Watty's scawlin wife.
'Nasty, gude for-naething being! 'O ye snuffy, drunken sow!'Bringan wife and weans to ruin, 'drinkin here wi' sic a crew!
'De'il nor your twa legs were broken! 'sic a life nae flesh endures.———'Toilen like a slave to sloken 'you, you dyvour and your 'hores!
'Rise! ye drunken beast o' Bethel! 'drink's your night and day's desire:'Rise! this precious hour! or faith I'll 'sling your whisky in the fire!'
