Grizzy Poem by Robert Anderson

The witch weyfe begg'd in our backseyde,
But went unsarra'd away i'th' pet;
Our Ester kurn'd at e'er she kurn'd,
But Butter the deuce a crum cou'd get.
The pez--stack fell, and crush'd my fadder;
My mudder cowp'd owre, and leam'd hersel
Neist, war and war, what dud we see,
But Jenny' pet lam drown'd i' the well.

Auld Grizzy the witch, as some fwok say,
Meks paddock--rud ointment for sair een,
And cures the tuith--wark wi' a charm,
Of hard words neane ken what they mean.
She milks the kye, the urchin's bleam'd;
She bleets the cworn wi' her bad e'e;
When cross'd by lasses, they pruive wi' bairn,
And if she grummel, they're seafe o' twee.

I yence sweethearted Madge o'th' Mill,
And whea sae thick as she and I;
Auld Whang he promis'd tweescore pun,
A weel--theek'd house, and bit of a stye;
Ae neet we met at our croft head,
But Grizzy was daund'ring aw her leane,
And scarce a week o' days were owre,
Till Madge to kurk Wull Weer had teane.

When Deef Dick Maudlin lost his weyfe,
And said 'twas weel it was nae war;
When Jerry' black filly pick'd the fwoal,
And hawf--blin Calep fell owre the scar;
When Manten Marget brunt her rock;
When smuggler Mat was lost i' the snaw;
When wheezlin Wully was set i' the stocks;
Auld Grizzy aye gat the weyte of aw.

Her feace is like the stump of a yek;
She stoops and stowters, sheks and walks;
Bleer--e'ed and tuithless, wi' a beard;
She coughs and granes, and mumps and talks;
She lives in a shill--house, burns dried sticks,
And there hes dealins wi' the de'il.
O war she whietly in her grave,
For where she bides few can dui weel.