Willie Wastle

by Robert Burns

 

Willie Wastle dwalls on Tweed,

The spot they ca’ it Linkumdoddie;

A creeshie wabster till his trade,

Can steal a clue wi’ ony body:

He has a wife that’s dour and din,

Tinkler Madgie was her mither;

Sic a wife as Willie’s wife,

I wadna gie a button for her.

 

She has an e’e, she has but ane,

Our cat has twa, the very colour;

Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,

A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller:

A whiskin beard about her mou,

Her nose and chin they threaten ither;

Sic a wife as Willie’s wife,

I wad na gie a button for her.

 

She’s bow-hough’d, she’s hem-shin’d,

Ae limpin leg a hand-bread shorter;

She’s twisted right, she’s twisted left,

To balance fair in ilka quarter:

She has a hump upon her breast,

The twin o’ that upon her shouther;

Sic a wife as Willie’s wife,

I wad na gie a button for her.

 

Auld baudrans by the ingle sits,

An wi’ her loof her face a washin;

But Willie’s wife is nae sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi’ a hushian:

Her waly nieves like midden-creels,

Her feet wad fyle the Logan-water;

Sic a wife as Willie’s wife,

I wad na gie a button for her.