6 Like you I then could quench my drought, But now I dare na weet my mouth. For Maggy’s tongue,—deil drive her south, To some place far awa’, man.
On Sunday, if I speir for Will, She swears I’m seeking drink, man; Then o’er my head, with furious rage. The tangs aloud will clink man. This is the life, that I must bear, She’ll oft haurl cut my very hair. And then she’ll rage, and curse, and swear. And cry ye dog, I'll gi’e ye mair, Tho for you 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 na power to see her ill, She led me captive at her will, Poor simple youth, I had nae skill, But fhought that she was like mysel’, For Jove 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 Ony sot, Wi’ no word out o’ my throat,
