# Watty and Meg, or, The wife reformed

WATTY AND MEG
or the
Wife Reformed.
A TALE.
EDINBURGH:
printed for the booksellers,
1823.
WATTY AND MEG.
Keen the frosty winds were blawin, Deep the snaw had wreath'd the ploughs, Watty, wearied a' day sawin, Dauner't down to Mungo Blue's.
Dryster Jock was sitting cracky, Wi' Pate Tamson o' the hill, Come awa, quo' Johnny, Watty, Faith we'se hae anither gill.
Watty, glad to see Jock Jabos, And sae mony neebours roun,
Kicket frae his shoon the snaw ba's,
Syne ayont the fire sat down.
Owre a broad, wi' bannocks heapit, Cheese and stoups and glasses stood; Some were roarin, ithers sleepit, Ithers quietly chewd their cude.
Jock was sellin Pate some tallow, A'the rest a racket hel', A' but Watty, wha, poor fallow, Sat and smoket by himsel.
Mungo fill'd him up a toothfu', Drank his health and Meg's insane, Watty, puffing out a mouthfu', Pledg'd him wi' a dreary grane.
What's the matter, Watty, wi' ye? Troth your chafts are fa'ing in, ​Something's wrang, I'm wae to see you, Gudesake but ye're desperate thin.
Ay, quo' Watty, things are alter'd, But it's past redemption now; Lord! I wish I had been halter'd, When I married Maggy Hote.
I've been poor and vext and raggy, Tried wi' troubles no that sma'; Them I bore, but marrying Maggy, Laid the cap-stane o' them a'.
Night and day she's ever yelping Wi' the weans she ne'er can gree; When she's tir'd wi' perfect skelpin, Then she flies like fire on me.
See you, Mungo, when she'll clash on, Wi' her everlasting clack, Whiles I've had my neive in passion Lifted up to break her back.
O for gudesake keep frae cuffets; Mungo shook his head, and said, Weel I ken what sort o' life it's, Ken ye, Watty, how I did?
After Bess and I were kippelt, Soon she grew like ony bear, Brak my shins, and when I tippelt She harl't out my very hair,
For a wee I quietly knuckelt, But whan naething wad prevail, Up my claes and wash I buckelt; Bess, for ever fare ye weel.
​Then her din grew less and less ay, Faith I gart her change her tune; Now a better wife than Bessy Never stept in leather sheen.
Try this, Watty, when ye see her Raging like a roaring flood, Swear that moment that ye'll lea her, That's the way to keep her gude.
Laughing, sangs, and lasses' skirls Echoed now out thro‘ the roof, — Done quo' Pate, and then his earls Nail't the dryster's waakit loof.
I’ the thrang o' stories telling, Shaking hands and ither cheer,
Swith! a chap comes on the challan, Mungo, is our Watty here?
Maggy's weel kent tongue and harry
Darted through him like a knife, Up the door flew like a fury, In cam Watty's scaulding wife:
Nasty gude-for-naething being, O ye snuffy drucken sow, Bringing wife and weans to ruin, Drinking here wi' sic a crew.
Deil nor your twa legs were broken, Sic a life nae flesh endures,
Toiling night and day to slocken
You, ye dyvor and your whores.
Rise, ye drucken beast o' Bethel,
Drink's your night and day's desire; ​Rise this precious hour, or faith I’ll Fling yoar whisky i’ the fire.
Watty heard her tongue unhallow, Paid his groat wi’ little din, Left the house, while Maggy follow’t Flytin’ a‘ the road ahim
Folk frae every door cam lampin, Maggy curst them ane and a’ Clappit wi’ her hands, and, stampin, Lost her beachels i’ the snaw.
Hame at length she turn'd the gavel, Wi' a face as white's a clout, Raging like a very devil; Kicking stools and chairs about.
Yell sit wi' your limmers round ye! Hang you, Sir, I'll be your death; Little hands my hands confound ye, But I cleave you o’ the teeth.
Watty, wha midst this oration Ee’d her whiles, but durstna speak, Sat like patient resignation, Trembling by the ingle cheek,
Sad his wee drap brose, he suppet, Maggy's tongue gaed like a bell, Quietly; to his bed he slippet, Sighing aften to himsel.
Nane are free frae some vexation, Ilk ane has his ills to dree, But thro ‘a the hale creation Is a moral vext like me.
​A night lang he row’t and gauntet, Sleep or rest he couldna tak, Maggy aft wi' horror hauntet, Mum’ling starlet at his back.
Soon as e‘er the morning peepit, Up raise Watty, waelu’ cheil! Kiss’d the weans while they sleepit, Wauken’d Meg and sought farewell.
Fareweel Meg, and O may Heaven Keep yon ay within his care, Watty’s heart ye've lang been grieving, Now he’ll never vex you mair.
Happy could I been beside you, Happy baith at morn and even, A’ the ills did e‘er betide you, Watty ay turn’t out your frien’;
But, ye ever like to see me Vext and sighing, late and air; Farewell Meg, I’ve sworn to leave thee, So thou‘lt never see me mair.
Meg a’ sabbin sae to lose him, Sic a change had never wist, Held his hand close to her bosom, While her heart was like to burst.
O my Watty will ye lea’ me, Friendless, helpless to despair! O for this ae time forgie me, Never will I vex you mair.
Ay, ye‘ve aft said that, and broken A’ your vows ten times a week; ​Na, na, Meg; see there's a token Glittering on my bonnet cheek.
Owre the seas I march this morning, Listed, tested, sworn an’ a’, Forc’d by your confounded girning;— Fareweel, Meg, for I'm awa.
Then poor Maggy's tears and clamour Cush't afresh, and louder grew, While the weans wi’ mournfu' yammer, Round their sabbin mither flew.
Thro‘ the yirth I'll wander wi’ you Stay, O Watty, stay at hame; Here upon my knees I'll gie you Ony thing ye like to name.
See your poor young lammies pleadin, Will ye gang, to break our heart, No a house to put our head in, No a friend to tak our part:
Ilka word cam like a bullet, Watty's heart begoud to shake, On a kist lie laid his wallet,
Dighted baith his een, and spake
If ance mair I could by writing, Lea' the sodgers and stay still, Wad ye swear to drap your flyting? Yes, O Watty, yes I will.
Then quo' Watty, mind be honest, Ay to keep your temper strive; Gin ye break this dreadfu' promise, Never mair expect to thrive.
​Marget Howe! this hour ye solemn Swear by ev’ry thing that's good, Ne’er again your spouse to scauld him, While life warms your heart and blood.
That ye’ll ne'er in Mungo's seek me, Ne‘er put drucken to my name— Never out at e‘ening steek me, Never gloom when I come home.
That ye’ll ne‘er like Bessy Miller, Kick my shins or rug my hair; Lastly, I'm to keep the siller— This upon your soul ye swear.
O—oh! quo‘ Meg; aweel, quo‘ Watty, Fareweel, faith I’ll try the seas; O stand still, quo‘ Meg, and grat ay, Ony, ouy way ye please.
Maggy syne because he prest her, Swore to a thing owre again, Watty lap and danc‘d, and kiss‘d her, Wow, but he was wondrous fain.
Down he threw his staff victorious, Aff gaed bonnet, claes and shoon; Syne below the blankets glorious Held anither hinny-moon.
finis.
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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