Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Contradiction

Contradiction.

In Anster, long since, in the shire of Fife,
There lived a man who wanted a wife;
A fisher was he, most stout and bold,
With a temper much, more hot than cold;
And he often said that whoe'er married him
Should be somewhat like his wherry trim,
Obedient in all things to the lawful force
With which he as steersman should guide her course,
And that with her- tongue she should not afflict him,
Nor yet for her life once contradict him,
But whatever he might do or say,
She should look on it as law, and let it have way.
In time, as things will come to pass,
This fisher heard of a Dysart lass,
Who was most modest, mild, and meek,
With lips that looked as they scarce could speak;
In short the very thing he wanted;
So love was soon asked, and soon was granted.

The pair were wedded, and he with pride
Brought home in his boat his gentle bride;
But, as they were cruising along the shore,
He saw what he had not seen before;
For she, when asked by the jolly bridegroom
To sit aside a little for room,
Had scarcely moved from her place a minute,
When back again he saw her in it;
And this in so quiet and mild a way,
As if she both would, and would not obey.
The act was a trifle—might mean no harm,
But yet it gave him a little alarm.
And full soon its meaning came plain to view,
And full soon our fisher began to rue,
For ere the first month was past and gone,
The lady's voice had changed its tone,
And to everything he did or said
An opposition flat she made;
Till finding himself so greatly thwarted,

He swore he was almost broken-hearted.
A wrangling year had passed away,
When going one morn at break of day,
To launch to the fishing, he found that his boat,
Which only last night he had left afloat,
Was cut and run, out of sight at sea,
Leaving only a stump of the rope on the quay.
Some ill-willing neighbour had done the deed—
At least this was part of our fisher's creed.
So he hastened home to tell his wife
How some rogue had cut loose his boat with a knife;
The stump of rope at the same time he rears—
"My dear," said she, "you must mean with shears;
The cut is of that kind clear and plain,"
"The knife say I," quoth the husband again.

And to it they went on this nice little matter,
Till he swore she would kill him outright with her clatter;
And enraged at last beyond all enduring,
He would try her, he said, with a new mode of curing;
So straight to the pier he dragged her down,
And, holding her o'er by the skirts of her gown,
He dipped her into the brimming flood,
And kept her there for a minute good;
Then drawing her up, he asked her how
She thought the rope had been severed now?
Quoth she all gasping, "By shears, by shears!"—
Down again she went over head and ears.
And this time he vowed she should have a good sup
Of the bitter brine ere he drew her up;
So he kept her in for two minutes at least,
So that when she came up all speech had ceased.
Still, still, however, speaking or dumb,
She would not to her man succumb:
So, when the question again was put
As to how she thought the rope was cut.
She just held up her finger tip,
And made it against the next play clip—
A sign that truly, dip as he will,
She was of the same opinion still.
That sign was the snap of the scissors of Fate,
For down again she was plunged by her mate,
And left to float away on the Firth,
And never was seen again on earth.

Now all you wives from Stirling to Crail,
Take warning by this dismal tale,
And if with your husbands you would have your way,
See that you don't the design betray;
Do nothing with them against the grain,
Or speak what will make them speak again;
You may rule, I assure you, without restriction,
But never, oh! never, by contradiction.