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Ance I could hear the laverock's shrill-tun'd
dowie too, To sowf a tune I'll never crook my mou.
Foul fa' me gif your bridal had na been Nae langer bygane than sin' Hallow-e'en, I cou'd hae telld 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,
Fain would I houp my friend will be inclin'd
Ah ! Willie, Willie, I
date Frae what beted me on my
bridal day; Sair may
I rure the hour in which our hands
Ah! Sandie, aften hae I heard
tell, Amang the lasses a' she bure the bell;
say, the modest glances o' her e'en
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.
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;
Sooner shou'd Winter's cauld confine the sea,
Weel cou'd I this abide, but oh! I fear I'll soon be twin'd o' a' my warldly gear ; My kirpstaff 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.
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
Her tea! ah! wae betide sic costly gear, Or them that ever wad the price o't spear,