The Bad wife/The Bad wife

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THE BAD WIFE.

O Jamie lad, hear my advice,
And warnin’ tak’ by me, man,
For if you get a wife like me,
You’ll rue’t until ye die, man:
For when that I was in my youth,
Like you, I then could quench my drouth,
But now I darena wet my mouth,
For Maggy's tongue, de’il drive her outh
To some place far awa’, man.

On Sunday, if I spier for Will,
She swears I’m seeking drink, man:
Then o'er my head wi' furious rage,
The tangs aloud will clink, man.
This is the life that I must bear,
She'll harle out my very hair;
And then she’ll rage, and curse, and swear,
And cry, Ye dog, I'll gi’e ye mair,
Tho’ for ye I should die, man.

And Jamie, when I got her first,
I thought myself enrich'd man:
Her beauty, and her bonny claes
They had me sae bewitch’d, man.
I had nae power to see her ill,
She led me captive at her will,
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,
It makes but little of a man
To say that he would lift his han';
For instance there's our neighbour Tam,
He's just as ill as me, man.

But Jamie, when you wale a wife,
Lay beauty all aside, man;
The pleasures of a virtuous wife
Are beyond a bonny bride, man.
Think on their wild deceitful ways,
Their painted cheeks and bonn claes.
They're like a stockin' full of fleas,
That will disturb ye a‘ your days,
Until the day you die, man.

For the brawest lasses aft I see,
Turns out the greatest daws, man;
For when a man and bairns they get,
It's rags in place of braws, man.
But when a wife ye gang to seek,
Look for ane that's mild and meek,
With modesty on ilka cheek,
And then your joys will be complete
Until the day you die, man.