Sough o' war

THE WIFE ON THE WAR 23
They ’ll nail your twa lugs to the muckle mill
door,
Like a futtrat that’s come to the skinnin’
o’t.
An’ thraw your deucks’ necks an’ mak’ broth o’
your caur—
Pit that on your reel for the spinnin’ o’t.’
* Haud, baud,’ quo’ the wifie, ' ye ’re fleggin'
us a’,
Come haiste ye, gin that be the meanin’ o’t.
Rax doon the aul’ gun fae the crap o’ the wa’,
It’s time ye set on to the cleanin’ o’t—
Ye aye were richt deidly at doos an’ at craws,
An’ skeely at Yeel at the sheetin’ o’t—
Gie me syne the chapper, we ’ll fell them in raws,
An’ leave them sma’ brag o’ the meetin’ o’t.
Gin mornin’ was come, seen as ever it’s licht,
Sen’ Rob to the sergeant for dreelin’ o’t.
An’ the deemie will start wyvin’ mittens the
nicht,—
I ’ve a stockin’ mysel’ at the heelin’ o’t.
An’ noo jist to cantle oor courage a bit,
An’ haud the hairt stoot in the bodie o’t,
Fesh oot the black pig, there’s a drap in her yet.
An’ I ’ll get the teels to mak’ toddy o’t.’
1915*