"Ye pegh and grane, and goazle there,
And make an unco splutter,
And I maun lie and thole you, though
I'm fient a hair the better."
Then he in wrath put up his graith,
"The devil's in the hizzie,
I mow you as I mow the lave,
And night and day I'm busy.
"I've bairned the servant gipsies baith,
Forbye your titty Leah,
Ye barren jade, ye put me mad,
What mair can I do wi' you?
"There's ne'er a mow I've gien the lave,
But ye hae got a dizzen.
But d——d a ane ye'se get again,
Although your c——t should gizzen."
Then Rachel, calm as ony lamb,
She claps him on the waulies;
Quo' she, "Ne'er fash a woman's' clash,
In troth ye mow me brawlies.
"My dear 'tis true, for mony a mow,
I am your gratefu' debtor,
But ance again, I dinna ken,
Will aiblins happen better."
The honest man wi' little wark,
He soon forgot his ire;
The patriarch he coost the sark,
And up and till't like fire.