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THE WYT OP AtrCHTIRHTJCHTY. 121
Thought to half wescht thame on ane stane ; The burne wes rissin grit of spait, Away fra him the scheitis hes tane.
Then up he gat on ane know heid, hs
On hir to cry, on hir to schout; Scho hard him, and scho hard him not,
Bot stoutly steird the stottis about. Scho draif the day unto the night, 109
Scho lousit the pluch, and syne come hame ; Scho fand all wrang that sould bene richt,
I trow the man thought richt grit schame.
Quoth he, " My office I forsaik,
For all the dayis of my lyf, For I wald put ane house to wraik, ns
Had I bene twenty dayis gudwyf." Quoth scho, " Weill mote ye bruke your place,
For trewlie I will never excep it:" Quoth he, " Feind fall the lyaris face,
Bot yit ye may be blyth to get it." 12c
Than up scho gat ane mekle rung,
And the gudman maid to the doir; Quoth he, " Dame, I sail hald my tung,
For and we fecht Till get the woir." Quoth he, " Quhen I forsuk my pluche, 12s *
I trow I but forsuk my seill; And I will to my pluch agane,
Ffor I and this howse will nevir do weill." 106. MS. cray. 122. MS. dur. |
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