3
Poor simple youth, I hadna 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 mute as only 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 wirk,
She flees at me like ony Turk:
Wi’ venom she would cut my throat,
Or shoot me dead upon the spot:
She's fill’d with cruelty, man.
Some say that I should thresh her weel
And I shou’d tann her hide, man:
The oil o' a gude hazel rung
They say, would lay her pride, man.
But I dinna like to try that plan,
