Frowned the Laird on the Lord: “So, red-handed I catch thee?
Death-doomed by our Law of the Border!
We’ve a gallows outside and a chiel to dispatch thee:
Who trespasses, hangs: all’s in order.”
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-fashion will squeak,
And ‘it rains’ soon succeed to ‘it thunders.”’
A week did he bide in the cold and the dark
Not hunger: for duly at morning
In flitted a lass, 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 lassie:
“Yon gallows, or Muckle-mouth Meg for bride!
Consider! Sky’s blue and turf’s grassy:
“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 God’s grace,
To Muckle-mouth Meg in good earnest!”