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The Wife Wrapt in Wether’s Skin

THERE livd a laird down into Fife, Riftly, raftly, now, now, now An he has married a bonny young wife. Hey Jock Simpleton, Jenny['s] white petticoat, Robin a Rashes, now, now, now
He courted her and he brought her hame, An thought she would prove a thrifty dame.
She could nether spin nor caird, But sit in her chair and dawt the laird.
She wadna bake and she wadna brew, An a' was for spoiling her delicate hue.
She wadna wash nor wad she wring, For spoiling o her gay goud ring.
But he has taen him to his sheep-fauld, An taen the best weather by the spauld.
Aff o the weather he took the skin, An rowt his bonny lady in.
'I dare na thump you, for your proud kin, But well sall I lay to my ain weather's skin.'