THE CUMBERLAND SCOLD. OUR Dick's sae cross — but what o' that! I'll tell ye aw the matter; Pou up yer heads; ay, deil may cure, 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!"