Broadside entitled 'The Lamentation of the Butchers Wives in Musleburgh for Weighting of the Flesh'

Transcription

                T H E   

LAMENTATION

Of the Butchers Wives in Musleburgh
for weighting of the Flesh.

Some Boutcher's Wives got a fine Soup.
    Wi turning of the Chapen Stoup.
Clashing wi Drunken Bessie Shaw,
The,souest Coarse among thnm a,
Began to rail against the Law,
For Weighting Flesh and highting Ale,
And Greeting told their dreary Tale.
Quoth Peching, pulfer'd Jean M'Millan,
We Flesher Wives may all cry Killing.
This Day I've gain'd but ae poor Shilling,
And that e'n slipped or'e my Throat,
For Ale's sae Dear, a Quarts a Groat.
Before my Poutch was never Bare,
For well could Flesh a Chopen spare,
But since it was weighted, just wi Grief,
My Body's lost three Stane of Bieff;
And our good Man, that drnnken Weight
Came reeling Hame; the other Night,
And swore since Flesh was sold by Weight,
That with his meikie Rung he'd sell me,
And openly in Mercat sell me,
Quoth Bessie, since you Weight the Meat,
It's very easy for to Cheat.
Gi order when the Beasts are flain,
That Blood among the Beff remain,
And ne,re head the Bayers Curse,
lt's ay well done that fills the Purse,
Soncy says Kett well may you be,
Ye've ay a good Advice to gi.
Ye are a dainty drunken Wife,
And e'n as sharp's the killing Knife,
Indeed your Counsels very good,
Ye ken ther's nane but Jews hates Blood,
Ye heard this Day the Jute Wife tel'd
When twenty penny Ale was sel'd.
She faud a Way to cure the Matter,
And ckt it up wi' Caller Water,
Alace says Nansy at Brig-end:
We us'd to make a bony Fend.
And ay had Siller for to Spend,

We keept a Babie off each Groat.

In Fidlar Don's to wash our Throats;

And our good Men was a deceived,

And never kent what we received,

But Since the Law to weight the Meat

The noar a Bole can we Cheat,                  

Twill even draw in our Apron Strings.

And make us sell our bra Gold Rings.

In Sundays Cloaths nane were so rise,

And Mensesu as the Fleshers Wise.

We scarce sit three Year at the Stand,

But we were ready to buy Land.

Out of an single Ox, I ve made

Since first I kend the Flesher Trade,

A Peck of Pearlings and a Plaid.

Neither the Baikers nor the Brewars,

Had such a lown Trafique as ours.

But now they Tope, and were turn'd low,

And waes my Heart it should be so:

The Brewer makes the Tapster willing

To height each nine an other Shilling,

It's very far from being discreet,

And Bakers pays small Rates for Wheat

Whilst the poor Boutchers sighs and groans

To give allowances for Bones.

And sell the best Gear on the Ground,

For poor three half Pennies the Pound.

Really as the Proverb says,

Ther's unco Chainge 'twixt Mercat Days.

He that contriv'd this Law's been Glutton

That lov'd to swallow Beef or Mutton,

I wish the Flesher Tikes fall on him,

And I my self shall help to Stone him,

FINIS.

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