AN ECLOGUE.

SANDIE.

Ance I could hear the laverock's shrill-tun'd

throat,

And listen to the clatt'ring gowdspink's note;
Ance I could whistle cantily as they,

To owsen as they till'd my raggit clay;
But now I wou'd as lieve maist lend my lugs
To tuneless puddocks croaking i' the bogs;
I sigh at hame, a-field am dowie too,

To sowf a tune I'll never crook my mou.

WILLIE.

Foul fa' me gif your bridal had na been Nae langer bygane than sin' Hallowe'en, I cou'd hae tell'd you but a warlock's art, That some daft lightlyin' quean had stown your

heart;

Our beasties here will tak their e'ening pluck,

An' now sin' Jock's gane hame the byres to muck,

AN ECLOGUE.

Fain would I houp my friend will be inclin'd
To gie me a' the secrets o' his mind :

Heh! Sandie, lad, what dool's come owre ye now, ̈.
That you to whistle ne'er will crook your mou?

SANDIE.

Ah! Willie, Willie, I may date my wae Frae what beted me on my bridal day ;

Sair

may I rue the hour in which our hands
Were knit thegither in the haly bands;
Sin that I thrave sae ill, in troth I fancy,
Some fiend or fairy, nae sae very chancy,
Has driven me, by pauky wiles uncommon,
To wed this flytin fury of a woman.

WILLIE.

Ah! Sandie, aften hae I heard you tell,

Amang the lasses a' she bure the bell;

AN ECLOGUE.

And say, the modest glances o' her e'en
Far dang the brightest beauties o' the green,
You ca'd her ay sae innocent, sae young,
I thought she kent na how to use her tongue.

SANDIE.

Before I married her, I'll tak my aith, Her tongue was never louder than her breath; But now it's turn'd sae souple and sae bauld, That Job himsel could scarcely thole the scauld.

WILLIE.

Let her yelp on, be you as calm's a mouse, Nor let your whisht be heard into the house; Do what she can, or be as loud's she please, Ne'er mind her flytes, but set your heart at ease, Sit down and blaw your pipe, nor faush your thumb, An' there's my hand she'll tire, and soon sing dumb;

་་་་་་

AN ECLOGUE.

Sooner shou'd Winter's cauld confine the sea,
An' let the sma'est of our burns rin free;
Sooner at Yule-day shall the birk be drest,.
Or birds in sapless busses big their nest,
Before a tonguey woman's noisy plea
Should ever be a cause to danton me.

SANDIE.

Weel cou'd I this abide, but oh! I fear
I'll soon be twin'd o' a' my warldly gear ;
My kirnstaff now stands gizzen'd at the door,
My cheese-rack toom that ne'er was toom before
My kye may now rin rowtin to the hill,

And on the naked yird their milkness spill ;
She seenil lays her hand upo' a turn,
Neglects the kebbuck, and forgets the kirn;
I vow my hair-mould milk would poison dogs,
As it stands lapper'd in the dirty cogs.

AN ECLOGUE.

Before the seed I sell'd my

ferra cow,

An' wi' the profit coft a stane o' woo':

I thought, by priggin, that she might hae spun
A plaidie, light, to screen me frae the sun;
But tho' the siller's scant, the cleedin dear,
She has na ca'd about a wheel this year.
Last ouk but ane I was frae hame a day,
Buying a thrave or twa o' bedding strae :
O' ilka thing the woman had her will,
Had fouth o' meal to bake, and hens to kill:
But hyn awa' to Edinbrough scour'd she
To get a making o' her fav'rite tea;
And 'cause I left her na the weary clink,

She pawn'd the very trunchers frae my bink..

WILLIE.

Her tea! ah! wae betide sic costly gear,

Or them that ever wad the price o't spear,