The Bad Wife (Stirling)/The Bad Wife
THE BAD WIFE.
O, Jamie, lad, hear my advice,
And warning tak' by me, man,
For if ye get a wife like me,
You'll ru't until ye die, man,
For when that I was in my youth,
Like you I then could quench my drought,
But now I dare na weet my mouth,
For Maggy's tongue,—deil drive her south,
To some place far awa', man.
On Sunday, if I speir for Will,
She swears I'm seeking drink, man;
Then o'er my head, with furious rage,
The tangs aloud will clink man.
This is the life that I must bear,
She'll oft haurl out my very hair,
And then she'll rage, and curse, and swear
And cry ye dog, I'll gi'e ye mair,
Tho' for you I should die, man.
And, Jamie, when I got her first,
I thought myself enrich'd man,
Her beauty and her bonny claes
They had me sae bewitch'd man;
I had na power to see her ill,
She led me captive at her will,
Poor simple youth, I had nae skill,
But thought that she was like mysel',
For love and unity, man.
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 work,
She flies at me just like a Turk,
Wi' venom she could cut my throat,
Or shoot me dead upon the spot,
She's fill'd wi' cruelty man.
But, Jamie, when ye wale a wife,
Lay beauty a' aside, man,
The pleasures o' a virtuous wife
Are beyond a bonny bride, man.
Think on their wild deceitfu' ways,
Their painted cheeks and bonny claes,
They're like a stocking fu' o' flaes,
That will torment ye a' your days,
Until the day ye die, man.