Stout gates of braſs, and well-built walls,
Are proof ’gainſt ſwords and cannon-balls;
But nought is found by ſea or land,
That can a wayward wife withſtand.
Sae bide you yet, &c.
THE ANSWER.
Gin I had a wee houſe, and a canty wee fire,
A bonny wee wifie to praiſe and admire,
A bonny wee yardie aſide a wee burn,
Farewel to the bocies that yammer and mourn
I’ll bide me yet, and I’ll bide me yet,
I little ken wat may betide me yet;
Some bonny wee body may be my lot,
And I’ll ay be canty wi thinking o’t.
When I gang a-field, and come hame at e’en,
I’ll get my wee wife ſou neat and ſou clean,
And a bonny wee bairnie upon her knee,
That will cry Papa or Daddy to me.
I’ll bide me yet, &c.
And if there ſhould happen ever to be
A diff’rence a-tween my wee wifie and me,
In hearty good humour, altho’ ſhe be teaz’d,
I’ll kiſs her, and clap her, until ſhe be pleas’ds
