 | The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie |  |
THE WEARY PUND O' TOW.
A young gudewife is in my house,
And thrifty means to be,
But aye she's runnin' to the town,
Some ferlie there to see.
The weary pund, the weary pund, the weary pund o' tow,
I soothly think, ere it be spun, I'll wear a lyart pow.
And thrifty means to be,
But aye she's runnin' to the town,
Some ferlie there to see.
The weary pund, the weary pund, the weary pund o' tow,
I soothly think, ere it be spun, I'll wear a lyart pow.
And when she sets her to her wheel
To draw her threads wi' care,
In comes the chapman wi' his gear,
And she can spin nae mair.
The weary pund, & c.
To draw her threads wi' care,
In comes the chapman wi' his gear,
And she can spin nae mair.
The weary pund, & c.
And she, like ony merry may,
At fairs maun still be seen,
At kirkyard preachings near the tent,
At dances on the green.
The weary pund, & c.
At fairs maun still be seen,
At kirkyard preachings near the tent,
At dances on the green.
The weary pund, & c.
Her dainty ear a fiddle charms,
A bagpipe's her delight,
But for the crooning o' her wheel
She disna care a mite.
The weary pund, & c.
A bagpipe's her delight,
But for the crooning o' her wheel
She disna care a mite.
The weary pund, & c.
You spake, my Kate, of snaw-white webs,
Made o' your linkum twine,
But, ah! I fear our bonny burn
Will ne'er lave web o' thine.
The weary pund, & c.
Made o' your linkum twine,
But, ah! I fear our bonny burn
Will ne'er lave web o' thine.
The weary pund, & c.
Nay, smile again, my winsome mate,
Sic jeering means nae ill,
Should I gae sarkless to my grave,
I'll lo'e and bless thee still.
The weary pund, & c.
Sic jeering means nae ill,
Should I gae sarkless to my grave,
I'll lo'e and bless thee still.
The weary pund, & c.
| The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie | |