WATTY AND MEG, OR THE WIFE REFORMED.

A TALE.

“After Bess and I were kippled,
“Soon she grew like ony bear;
“Brak' my shins, and, when I tippled,
“Haan out my very hair!”

“For a wee I quietly knuckled,
“But whan naething would prevail,
“Up my claes and cash I buckled,
“Bess, for ever fare-ye-weel—”

“Then her din grew less and less aye,
“Haith I garb her change her tune;
“Now a better wife than Bessy
“Never stept in leather shoon.”

“Try this, Watty—When ye see her
“Raging like a roaring flood,
“Swear that moment that ye'll lea' her;
“That's the way to keep her good.”

Laughing, sangs, and lasses' skirls,
Echo'd now out-thro' the roof;
“Done ?” quo Pate, and syne his erls
Nail'd the Dryster's wauked loof.

In the thrang of stories telling,
Shaking hauns, and ither cheer;
Swith! a chap comes on the hallan,
“Mungo, is our Watty here?”

Maggy's well-kent tongue and hurry,
Darted thro' him like a knife;
Up the door flew—like a Fury
In came Watty's scawling wife.

“Nasty, gude-for-naething being!
O ye snuffy, drucken sow!
“Bringing wife and weans to ruin,
Drinking here wi' sic a crew!”

“Devil, nor your legs were broken!
“Sic a life nae flesh endures;
“Toiling like a slave to sloken
“You, ye dyvor, and your 'hores!”

“Rise, ye drucken beast o' Bethel
“Drink's your night and day's desire;
“Rise, this precious hour! or faith, I'll
“Fling your whiskey i' the fire!”

Watty, heard her tongue unhallow'd,
Pay'd his groat wi' little din;
Left the house, while Maggy fallow'd,
Flytin' a' the road behin'.

Fowk frae every door came lamping;
Maggy curst them ane and a';
Clappet wi' her hands, and stamping,
Lost her bauchles i' the sna'.

Hame, at length she turn'd the gavel,
Wi' a face as white's a clout;
Raging like a very devil,
Kicking stools and chairs about.

“Ye'll sit wi' your limmers round you!
“Hang you, sir ? I'll be your death!”
Little hands my hands, confound you,
“But I cleave you to the teeth.”