When tidings was brought that Lisle did surrender,
It grieves me to think on’t, his wife took the gee,
These bitches still itches, and stretches commission,
And if they be crossed they’re still taking peeks,
And Sawney, poor man, he was out of condition,
And hardly well fit for defending the breeks.
She mutter’d, and moung’d, and looked damn’d misty,
And Sawney said something, as who cou’d forbear?
Then straight she began, and went to’t handfisty,
She whither’d about, and dang down all the gear: