Our Dick's sae cross--but what o'that!
I'll tell ye aw the matter;
Pou up yer heads; ay, deil may care,
Say, women--fwok mun chatter.
And sae they may; they've much to say,
But little are they meynded;
Obey! is sec a fearfu' word,
An' that the married find it.

Our Dick came in, and said it rain'd,
Says I, it meks nae matter;
''Ay, but it dis, tou silly fuil!--
But women--fwok mun clatter:
They're here an' there, an' ev'ry where,
And meakin sec a rumble,
Wi' te--te--te, an' te--te--te,
An' grumble, grumble, grumble!''

''Says I to Dick, to Dick, says I,
There's nought i' life can match thee!
Thy temper's ayways bursting out,
And nought I say can patch thee.
I's ass, and fuil, and silly snuil,
I's naething but a noodle;
I's ayways wrang, and never reet,
And doodle, doodle, doodle.''

''Deil bin!'' says Dick, ''if what I say
Is nit as true as beyble!
And gin I put te into print,
The fwok wad caw't a reyble:
For deil a clout can tou set on,
In ony form or fashion,
Or dui or say a single thing
To keep yen out o' passion.''

''Tou is a bonny guest, indeed!
Tou is a toppin fellow!
I think thy breast is meade o' brass,
Tou dis sae rwoar and bellow:
I nobbet wish that I were deef,
There's ayways sec a dingin;
I never ken what I's about,
There's sec a ring, ring, ringing.''

''Whea ever kens what tou's about?
Tou's ayways in a ponder;
Ay geavin wi' thy open mouth,
And wonder, wonder, wonder!
But of aw the wonders i' this warl,
I wonder we e'er married;
It wad hae been a bonny thing
Had that breet thout miscarried.''

''But, hark ye, Dick! I'll tell ye what,--
'Twas I that meade the blunder;
That I tuik up wi' leyke o' thee,
Was far the greetest wonder!
For tou was nowther guid nor rich,
And tempert leyke auld Scratchum!
The deil a day gangs owre my head,
But, fratchum, fratchum, fratchum!''