Volume Ii Part 71 (2/2)
He met frown with smile, did the young English gallant: Then the Laird's dame: ”Nay, Husband, I beg!
He's comely: be merciful! Grace for the callant --If he marries our Muckle-mouth Meg!”
”No mile-wide-mouthed monster of yours do I marry: Grant rather the gallows!” laughed he.
”Foul fare kith and kin of you--why do you tarry?”
”To tame your fierce temper!” quoth she.
”Shove him quick in the Hole, shut him fast for a week: Cold, darkness, and hunger work wonders: Who lion-like roars, now mouse-fas.h.i.+on will squeak, And 'it rains' soon succeed to 'it thunders.'”
A week did he bide in the cold and dark --Not hunger: for duly at morning In flitted a la.s.s, and a voice like a lark Chirped, ”Muckle-mouth Meg still ye're scorning?
”Go hang, but here's parritch to hearten ye first!”
”Did Meg's muckle-mouth boast within some Such music as yours, mine should match it or burst: No frog-jaws! So tell folk, my Winsome!”
Soon week came to end, and, from Hole's door set wide, Out he marched, and there waited the la.s.sie: ”Yon gallows, or Muckle-mouth Meg for a bride!
Consider! Sky's blue and turf's gra.s.sy:
”Life's sweet; shall I say ye wed Muckle-mouth Meg?”
”Not I,” quoth the stout heart: ”too eerie The mouth that can swallow a bubblyjock's egg: Shall I let it munch mine? Never, Dearie!”
”Not Muckle-mouth Meg? Wow, the obstinate man!
Perhaps he would rather wed me!”
”Ay, would he--with just for a dowry your can!”
”I'm Muckle-mouth Meg,” chirruped she.
”Then so--so--so--so--” as he kissed her apace-- ”Will I widen thee out till thou turnest From Margaret Minnikin-mou', by G.o.d's grace, To Muckle-mouth Meg in good earnest!”
Robert Browning [1812-1889]
MUCKLE-MOU'D MEG
”Oh, what hae ye brought us hame now, my brave lord, Strappit flaught owre his braid saddle-bow?
Some bauld Border reiver to feast at our board, An' harry our pantry, I trow.
He's buirdly an' stalwart in lith an' in limb; Gin ye were his master in war The field was a saft eneugh litter for him, Ye needna hae brought him sae far.
Then saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, An' when ye gae hunt again, strike higher game.”
”Hoot, whisht ye, my dame, for he comes o' gude kin, An' boasts o' a lang pedigree; This night he maun share o' our gude cheer within, At morning's gray dawn he maun dee.
He's gallant Wat Scott, heir o' proud Harden Ha', Wha ettled our lands clear to sweep; But now he is snug in auld Elibank's paw, An' shall swing frae our donjon-keep.
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