The wabster’s auld madam—her name it is Bell— Lang, ugly, and black, like the wabster himsel— She does nought the hale day but keeps skelpin the bairns, And hauds three or four o’ them tight at the pirns. Her tongue is as gleg and as sharp as a shuttle, Whilk seldom but gi’es her the best o’ the battle; And sometimes her neive lends the wabster a yerk, That he likes na sae weel as his customer-wark! VI. [Sidenote: The weaver given to prosing upon his traditions of the battle.] [Sidenote: How the inhabitants of Selkirk stood off during the fight, not knowing, as they pretended, whether the battle was “_in daffin_” or in earnest, till they saw Montrose’s army fly, when they enthusiastically joined in the pursuit!!!] [Sidenote: The wife, who has heard the story till she is sick of it, bids him mind his work, and not take up his head with things that do not put a penny in his purse.] The wabster whiles jaunders a lang winter night, On his ae single story—_Montrose and the fight_— And tells how “_the Sutors_” stood aff up the brae, Preservin’ their hides till the end o’ the play. The wife she breaks in wi’—“Dear Jamie, what ken ye ’Bout feghts? ’Twill be lang or they bring you a penny! Sic auld-warld nonsense is far frae the mark— I wish ye wad mind just the customer-wark!” VII. [Sidenote: The weaver was once told that great encouragement was given at New Lanark to weavers with large families, and for a long time _craiked_ to be there. But the wife, who, with all her tongue, fists, etc., has some good sense, would not hear of removing to any such faraway country, and at last frightened him out of the humour he had taken, by saying that she had heard there was _nae customer-wark to be got_ in Mr. Owen’s Utopia.] The wabster has heard about ane they ca’ Owen, That keeps twa-three toons in the wast-kintry growin’, Where there’s weavers that live just like beass in their sta’s, Without kirks or taxes, debts, hunger, or laws! And he whyles thinks he’d like to be there;—but the wife Knocks him down wi’—“Dear Jamie, man, ne’er fash your life! Do ye think Mr. Owen, or ony sic clerk, Could e’er gie ye ought like the customer-wark?” =Part Second.= I. [Sidenote: Improvident domestic habits, in time of plenty,] The black cutty-pipe, that lies by the fireside, Weel kens it the day when a wab has been paid, For then wi’ tobacco it’s filled to the ee,— And the wabster sits happy as happy can be; For hours at a time it’s ne’er out o’ his cheek, Till maist feck o’ his winnings ha’e vanished in reek: He says that o’ life he could ne’er keep the spark, An it werena the pipe and the customer-wark! II.