NAE HAIR ON'T.
An old fragment.
Yestreen I wed a lady fair,
An ye wad believe me,
On her c—t there grows nae hair,
That's the thing that grieves me.
It vex'd me sair, it plagu'd me sair.
It put me in a passion,
To think that I had wed a wife,
Whose c—t was out o' fashion.