Poems and Songs Humorous, Serious and Satirical By Alexander Rodger; Edited, with Introduction and Notes by Robert Ford; New and Complete Edition |
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THE SPINNING O'T. |
 | Poems and Songs Humorous, Serious and Satirical |  |
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THE SPINNING O'T.
When Adam first delved in his bonnie kailyaird,
And Eve tried her hand at the spinning o't,
They never were troubled by factor nor laird—
Their gear was their ain for the winning o't;
Nae tax-grabber crossed their bien hallan ava,
Their goods were na poinded by limbs o' the law,
And though their first busking was scrimpitly braw,
They had a bit cozie beginning o't.
And Eve tried her hand at the spinning o't,
They never were troubled by factor nor laird—
Their gear was their ain for the winning o't;
Nae tax-grabber crossed their bien hallan ava,
Their goods were na poinded by limbs o' the law,
And though their first busking was scrimpitly braw,
They had a bit cozie beginning o't.
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They pu'd their ain fruit, and they stoo'd their ain kail,
The grund was a' their's to the gleaning o't;
They made their ain maut, and they brewed their ain ale,
For gauger, they kent na the meaning o't;
The beasts o' the field were a' at their command;
The hawk and the eagle wad pick frae their hand;
The wild ass's colt at their bidding wad stand:
Creation confessed their dominion o't.
The grund was a' their's to the gleaning o't;
They made their ain maut, and they brewed their ain ale,
For gauger, they kent na the meaning o't;
The beasts o' the field were a' at their command;
The hawk and the eagle wad pick frae their hand;
The wild ass's colt at their bidding wad stand:
Creation confessed their dominion o't.
But times took a turn, and the pair gat a fa',—
Foul fa the Auld Thief for that sinning o't!
His fause loopy tongue maistly ruined us a',
O had it been scaumed to the skinning o't;
For man, ever since, has been doomed by hard toil,
To scrape a scant meal frae a niggardly soil,
'Mid sweat and anxiety, grief and turmoil,
Through life, frae his very beginning o't.
Foul fa the Auld Thief for that sinning o't!
His fause loopy tongue maistly ruined us a',
O had it been scaumed to the skinning o't;
For man, ever since, has been doomed by hard toil,
To scrape a scant meal frae a niggardly soil,
'Mid sweat and anxiety, grief and turmoil,
Through life, frae his very beginning o't.
And still must he labour 'mid hardship and care,
At delving, at ploughing, or spinning o't,
Wi' belly aft pinched, and wi' back nearly bare,
For comfort, there's now a sad thinning o't;
His substance is seized on for taxes or rent,
The priest comes and tythes him, then preaches content,
Wi' sickness and sorrow his frame's sairly bent;
Pale want on his face shows the grinning o't.
At delving, at ploughing, or spinning o't,
Wi' belly aft pinched, and wi' back nearly bare,
For comfort, there's now a sad thinning o't;
His substance is seized on for taxes or rent,
The priest comes and tythes him, then preaches content,
Wi' sickness and sorrow his frame's sairly bent;
Pale want on his face shows the grinning o't.
The farmer should fend by the fruits o' the soil,
The wabster be warmed by the spinning o't;
The honey-bee sip the reward o' his toil,
The drone suit his wame to his winning o't.
The gluttonous cormorant, sluggard, and sot,
Say, should they be whippit, or hangit, or shot?
No; hence wi' them aff to some bleak barren spot,
There, set them, gin-horse like, a-ginning o't.
The wabster be warmed by the spinning o't;
The honey-bee sip the reward o' his toil,
The drone suit his wame to his winning o't.
The gluttonous cormorant, sluggard, and sot,
Say, should they be whippit, or hangit, or shot?
No; hence wi' them aff to some bleak barren spot,
There, set them, gin-horse like, a-ginning o't.
But here's to the shuttle, the spade, and the plough,
And here's to the wheel, and the spinning o't,
May ilk ane wha lives by the sweat o' his brow,
Hae plenty o' wealth for the winning o't;
May want, discontent, and fell turbulence cease,—
May nation with nation exchange its increase;
And nature still yield a rich crop, and a fleece,
To encourage the ploughing and spinning o't.
And here's to the wheel, and the spinning o't,
May ilk ane wha lives by the sweat o' his brow,
Hae plenty o' wealth for the winning o't;
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May nation with nation exchange its increase;
And nature still yield a rich crop, and a fleece,
To encourage the ploughing and spinning o't.
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