BARLEY BROTH.

IF tempers were put up to seale,
 Our Jwohn's wad bear a duced preyce;
 He vow'd 'twas barley i' the broth, —
 Upon my word, says I, it's reyce. 

 "I mek nea faut," our Jwohnny says,
 "The broth is guid and varra neyce;
 I only say — it's barley broth." 
Tou says what's wrang, says I, it's reyce. 

Did ever mortal hear the leyke! 
As if I hadn't sense to tell! 
Tou may think reyce the better thing,
 But barley broth dis just as well. " 

 "And sae it mud, if it was there;
 The deil a grain is i' the pot;
 But tou mun ayways threep yen down, —
 I've drawn the deevil of a lot!" 

 "And what's the lot that I have drawn? 
Pervarsion is a woman's neame! 
Sae fares-te-weel! I'll sarve my king,
 And never, never mair come heame." 

Now Jenny frets frae mworn to neet;
 The Sunday cap's nae langer neyce;
 She aye puts barley i' the broth,
 And hates the varra neame o' reyce. 

Thus treyfles vex, and treyfles please,
 And treyfles mek the sum o' leyfe;
 And treyfles mek a bonny lass
 A wretched or a happy weyfe!