  I GAED to spend a week in Fife; An unco week it proved to be, For there I met a waesome wife Lamentin’ her viduity. Her grief brak out sae fierce and fell, I thought her heart wad burst the shell; And—I was sae left to mysel’— I sell’t her an annuity. The bargain lookit fair eneugh— She just was turned o’ saxty-three. I couldna guessed she’d prove sae teugh, But years have come, and years have gane, And there she’s yet, as stieve as stane; The limmer’s growin’ young again, Since she got her annuity. She’s crined awa’ to bane and skin, But that, it seems, is naught to me; She’s like to live, although she’s in The last stage o’ tenuity. She munches wi’ her wizen’d gums, An’ stumps about on legs o’ thrums, But comes, as sure as Christmas comes, To ca’ for her annuity. I read the tables drawn wi’ care For an insurance company; Her chance o’ life was stated there Wi’ perfect perspicuity. But tables here, or tables there, She’s lived ten years beyond her share, An’ ’s like to live a dozen mair, To ca’ for her annuity. Last Yule she had a fearfu’ host; I thought a kink might set me free; I led her out, ’mang snaw and frost, Wi’ constant assiduity. But deil ma’ care—the blast gaed by, And miss’d the auld anatomy— It just cost me a tooth, forbye Discharging her annuity. If there’s a sough o’ cholera, Or typhus, wha sae gleg as she? She buys up baths, an’ drugs, an’ a’, In siccan superfluity, She doesna need—she’s fever-proof; The pest walked o’er her very roof— She tauld me sae; an’ then her loof Held out for her annuity. Ae day she fell, her arm she brak— A compound fracture as could be; Nae leech the cure wad undertake, Whate’er was the gratuity. It’s cured! she handles ’t like a flail— It does as weel in bits as hale; But I’m a broken man mysel’, Wi’ her and her annuity. Her broozled flesh and broken banes Are weel as flesh and banes can be; She beats the toads that live in stanes An’ fatten in vacuity! They die when they’re exposed to air— They canna thole the atmosphere; But her! expose her onywhere, She lives for her annuity. If mortal means could nick her thread, Sma’ crime it wad appear to me; Ca’t murder—or ca’t homicide, 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; Her backbone wanders through her sark In an unkenn’d corkscrewity. She’s palsified, an’ shakes her head Sae fast about, ye scarce can see ’t; It’s past the power o’ steel or lead To settle her annuity. She might be drowned, but go she’ll not Within a mile o’ loch or sea; Or hanged, if cord could grip a throat O’ siccan exiguity. It’s fitter far to hang the rope— It draws out like a telescope; ’Twad tak’ a dreadfu’ length o’ drop To settle her annuity. Will poison do it? It has been tried, But be ’t in hash or fricassee, That’s just the dish she can’t abide, Whatever kind o’ gout it hae. It’s needless to assail her doubts; She gangs by instinct, like the brutes, An’ only eats an’ drinks what suits Hersel’ and her annuity. The Bible says the age o’ man Threescore and ten, perchance, may be; She’s ninety-four. Let them who can, Explain the incongruity. She should hae lived afore the flood; She’s come o’ patriarchal blood; She’s some auld Pagan mummified, Alive for her annuity. She’s been embalmed inside and oot; She’s sauted to the last degree; There’s pickle in her very snoot, Sae caper-like an’ cruety. Lot’s wife was fresh compared to her; They’ve kyanized the useless knir; She canna decompose—nae mair Than her accurs’d annuity. |
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