PO^MS 17s 



"Devil, nor your legs were broken! 



Sic a life nae flesh endures; 

 Toiling like a slave to sloken 



You, you dyvor,^^ and your 'hores! 



"Rise, ye drunken 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 hauds^^ my hands, confound you. 



But I cleave you to the teeth !" 



Watty, wha' midst this oration, 



Ey'd her whiles, but durstna speak, 



Sat like patient Resignation, 

 Trem'ling by the ingle cheek.-^ 



*" Drunkard. " Scolding. " Striding. " Slippers. 



'9 Cloth. ^ Holds. " Fireside. 



