He'd wed an enchantress — she'd turned a mishanter
His sack, niver laundered, nae thocht till his care
The bane o contention, his first love, byordnar
Her shadow cast lang ower the ill-greein pair.

His first love wis peerless — she'd looed him unstintin
Wi niver a greet, nor a girn nur a carp
His vices were virtues — she thocht him an Angel
A craitur Divine wintin anely the harp.

Tither side o the penny, the wife wis disgruntled
She'd turn up her snoot wi a wearisome grumph.
Ochon, for the chiel wha unselfish adored her
His care, an his kindness gaen ower fur a sumph!

The worm o' contention, twa roses wid wither
He haimmered the nails, an she cairried the cross
Her first love her faither — his idol, his mither.
Fa else wid see diamonds, far ithers saw dross?