( 3 )
But when the fatal knot was tied,
I found I was betray'd', man;
For she was fill’d wi' nought but strife,
And foolish empty pride, man.
I sit as mute as ony sot,
Wi' no a word out o’ my throat,
Till o’er my head the chamber-pot
In twenty pieces it is broke,
And then I’m forc’d to flee, man.
And if her wants I can’t supply,
She’ll flee like fire on me, man;
And let the pinch be ne'er so great,
She cries aloud for tea, man.
And if I bid her gang to wirk,
She flees at me like ony Turk;
Wi’ venom she could cut my throat,
Or shoot me dead upon the spot:
She’s fill’d with cruelty, man.
Some says that I should thresh her weel,
And I should toon her hide, man;
The oil o’ a gude hazel rung,
They say, would lay her pride, man.
But I dinna like to try that plan,
It mak’s but little o’ a man,
To say that he wou’d lift his han’;
For instance, there, our neighbour Tam,
He’s just as ill as me, man.
But Jamie, whan ye wale a wife,
Lay beauty a’ aside, man;
The pleasures o’ a virtuous wife
Are beyond a bonny bride, man:
