Monday, April 3, 2023

"Tit for Tat"

"Maggie my lass, I'm gaun awa'
   To hae a wee bit trip -
Just doon the Clyde, a mile or twa,
   I couldna let it slip.
Some ither day ye'll hae yer spell,
   I'm sure ye'll no complain;
Ye ken the minister himsel'
   Said you and I are ane."
Awa' he gaed, syne Maggie thocht,
   "That's kind o' queer o' Jock,
Weel, wit's the best, when dearly bocht -
   Just wait till sax o'clock.
I'll wind ye sic a pirn, my lad,
   Ye'll wish ye had na gane,
The gamest cock that ever crawed
   May meet a master ane."

When Jock come hame, the fire was oot,
   Nae supper could he see,
Maggie ne'er put hersel' aboot,
   "Whaur's my supper?" quo' he.
"Supper," quo' Meg, "I've just had mine,
   I wonder ye complain,
The thocht o' that should do ye fine
   Sin' you an' I are ane."

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