Peter Cornclips A Tale of Real Life; With Other Poems & Songs, By Alexander Rodger |
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“COME HAME TO YOUR LINGELS.” |
 | Peter Cornclips |  |
“COME HAME TO YOUR LINGELS.”
“Come hame to your lingels, ye ne'er-do-weel loon,
“You're the king o' the dyvours, the talk o' the town,
“Sae soon as the Munonday morning comes in,
“Your wearifu' daidling again maun begin.
“Gudewife, ye're a skillet, your tongue's just a bell,
“To the peace o' guid fallows it rings the death-knell,
“But clack, till ye deafen auld Barnaby's mill,
“The souter shall ay hae his Munonday's yill.”
“You're the king o' the dyvours, the talk o' the town,
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“Your wearifu' daidling again maun begin.
“Gudewife, ye're a skillet, your tongue's just a bell,
“To the peace o' guid fallows it rings the death-knell,
“But clack, till ye deafen auld Barnaby's mill,
“The souter shall ay hae his Munonday's yill.”
Come hame to your lap-stane, come hame to your last,
It's a bonnie affair that your family maun fast,
While you and your crew here, a-guzzling maun sit,
Ye dais'd drunken guid-for-nocht heir o' the pit;
Just leuk, how I'm gaun without stocking or shoe,
Your bairns a' in tatters, an' fotherless too,
An' yet, quite content, like a sot, ye'll sit still,
Till your kyte's like to crack, wi' your Munonday's yill.
It's a bonnie affair that your family maun fast,
While you and your crew here, a-guzzling maun sit,
Ye dais'd drunken guid-for-nocht heir o' the pit;
Just leuk, how I'm gaun without stocking or shoe,
Your bairns a' in tatters, an' fotherless too,
An' yet, quite content, like a sot, ye'll sit still,
Till your kyte's like to crack, wi' your Munonday's yill.
I tell you gudewife, gin ye haudna your clack,
I'll lend you a reestle wi' this, owre your back;
Maun we be abused, an' affronted by you,
Wi' siccan foul names as “loon,” “dyvour” an' “crew”?
Come hame to your lingels, this instant come hame,
Or I'll redden your face, gin ye've yet ony shame,
For I'll bring a' the bairns, an' we'll just hae our fill,
As weel as yoursel' o' your Munonday's yill.
I'll lend you a reestle wi' this, owre your back;
Maun we be abused, an' affronted by you,
Wi' siccan foul names as “loon,” “dyvour” an' “crew”?
Come hame to your lingels, this instant come hame,
Or I'll redden your face, gin ye've yet ony shame,
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As weel as yoursel' o' your Munonday's yill.
Gin that be the gate o't, sirs, come let us stir,
What need we sit here to be pester'd by her,
For she'll plague an' affront us as far as she can,
Did ever a woman sae bother a man?
Frae yill house to yill house she'll after us rin,
An' raise the hale town wi' her yelpin' an' din,
Come ca' the gudewife, bid her bring in her bill,
I see I maun quat takin' Munondays yill.
What need we sit here to be pester'd by her,
For she'll plague an' affront us as far as she can,
Did ever a woman sae bother a man?
Frae yill house to yill house she'll after us rin,
An' raise the hale town wi' her yelpin' an' din,
Come ca' the gudewife, bid her bring in her bill,
I see I maun quat takin' Munondays yill.
| Peter Cornclips | |