If mortal means could nick her thread,
Sma’ crime it wad appear to me;
Ca’t murder—or ca’t homicide,
I’d justify ’t, an’ do it tae.
But how to fell a withered wife
That’s carved out o’ the tree of life,
The timmer limmer dares the knife
To settle her annuity.
I’d try a shot—but whar’s the mark?
Her vital parts are hid frae me;