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She broke his shins, she tore his hair,
She made poor Will to wonder, O;
The pots and pans, and stools and chairs,
About his head did thunder, O!
Will was na us’d in sic a fray,
He ran out-by for shelter, O,
Cryin’, Curse upon the fatal day
That I to Kate was halter'd, O;
For had I ta’en a country maid,
Tho’ row’d up in her plaidie, O,
A richer man I wou’d ha’e been,
Than with the Glasgow lady, O.
THE LAUGHING SONG.
In the days of my childhood as sportive I play'd
Among the young lasses arouud
I was fond then of laughing my grandmother said
None merrier ever was found:
To fill up the moments with joy and delight,
I scarcely knew what I'd be at;
Whatever was pleasing that came to my sight,
I could not help laughing at that.
Still the humour prevails tho' maturer I'm grown,
I am happy to smile time away;
The frolicks of fancy I still make my own,
