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118 THE WTF OF ATTCHTIRMUCHTY.
" But sen that ye will husyskep ken, as
First ye sail sift and syne sail kned; And ay as ye gang but and ben,
Luk that the bairnis dryt not the bed. Teis lay ane soft wisp to the kill;
We haif ane deir ferme on o[u]r heid; w And ay as ye gang furth and in,
Keip weill the gaislingis fra the gled."
The wyf was up richt late at evin,
I pray God gif her evill to fair! Scho kyrnd the kyrne, and skumd it clene, 84
And left the gudeman bot the bledoch bair. Than in the mornyng up scho gatt,
And on hir hairt laid hir disjune ; Scho put als mekle in hir lap,
As micht haif ser[v]d them baith at nune. «
Sayis, " Jok, will thou be maister of wark,
And thou sail had, and I sail kail; Ise promise the* ane gude new sark,
Athir of round claith or of small." Scho lousit oxin aucht or nyne, «
And hynt ane gad-staff in hir hand; And the gudman raiss eftir syne,
And saw the wyf had done command.
And caud the gaislingis furth to feid;
Thair was bot sevensum of thame all; « And by thair cumis the gredy gled, |
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