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"Rise! ye drucken beast o' Bethel! "Drink's your night and day's desire:"Rise this precious hour! or faith I'll "Fling your whisky i' the fire!"
Watty heard her tongue unhallow't, Pay't his groat wi' little din,Left the house, while Maggy follow't, Flytin' a' the road behin'.
Fowk frae every door cam' lampin, Maggy curst them ane an' a',Clappet wi' her hauns, an' stampin', Lost her bauchels i' the sna'.
Hame, at length, she turn'd the gavel, Wi' a face as white's a clout,Ragin' like a very devil, Kickin' stools an' chairs about.
"Ye'll sit wi' your limmers round you! "Hang you, Sir! I'll be your death!"Little hauds my hauns, confound you! "But I'll cleave you to the teeth."
Watty, wha, 'midst this oration, Ey'd her whyles, but durstna' speak,Sat like patient Resignation, Trem'lin' by the ingle cheek.
Sad, his wee drap brose he sippet, Maggy's tongue gaed like a bell,Quietly to his bed he slippet, Sighin' aften to himsel'.
"Nane are free frae some vexation, "Ilk ane has his ills to dree;
