 | The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie |  |
NEW WORDS TO THE OLD SCOTCH AIR OF “THE WEE PICKLE TOW.”
A lively young lass had a wee pickle tow,
And she thought to try the spinning o't;
She sat by the fire and her rock took a low,
And that was an ill beginning o't.
Loud and shrill was the cry that she utter'd, I ween;
The sudden mischanter brought tears to her een;
Her face it was fair, but her temper was keen;
O dole for the ill beginning o't!
And she thought to try the spinning o't;
She sat by the fire and her rock took a low,
And that was an ill beginning o't.
Loud and shrill was the cry that she utter'd, I ween;
The sudden mischanter brought tears to her een;
Her face it was fair, but her temper was keen;
O dole for the ill beginning o't!
She stamp'd on the floor and her twa hands she wrung,
Her bonnie sweet mon' she crooket O!
And fell was the outbreak o' words fra her tongue;
Like one sair demented she looket O!
“Foul fa' the inventor o' rock and o' reel!
I hope, guid forgie me, he's now wi' the deil,
He brought us mair trouble than help, wot I weel,
O dole for the ill beginning o't!”
Her bonnie sweet mon' she crooket O!
And fell was the outbreak o' words fra her tongue;
Like one sair demented she looket O!
“Foul fa' the inventor o' rock and o' reel!
I hope, guid forgie me, he's now wi' the deil,
He brought us mair trouble than help, wot I weel,
O dole for the ill beginning o't!”
And now when they're spinning and kemping awa',
They'll talk o' my rock, and the burning o't,
While Tibbie, and Mysie, and Maggie, and a'
Into some silly joke will be turning it;
They'll say I was doited, they'll say I was fou',
They'll say I was dowie, and Robin untrue,
They'll say in the fire some luve-pouther I threw,
And that made the ill beginning o't!
They'll talk o' my rock, and the burning o't,
While Tibbie, and Mysie, and Maggie, and a'
Into some silly joke will be turning it;
They'll say I was doited, they'll say I was fou',
They'll say I was dowie, and Robin untrue,
They'll say in the fire some luve-pouther I threw,
And that made the ill beginning o't!
O curst be the day and unchancy the hour,
When I sat me adown to the spinning o't!
Then some evil spirit or warlock had pow'r,
And made sic an ill beginning o't:
May Spunkie my feet to the boggie betray,
The lunzie folk steal my new kirtle away,
And Robin forsake me for douce Effie Gray,
The next time I try the spinning o't!
When I sat me adown to the spinning o't!
Then some evil spirit or warlock had pow'r,
And made sic an ill beginning o't:
May Spunkie my feet to the boggie betray,
The lunzie folk steal my new kirtle away,
And Robin forsake me for douce Effie Gray,
The next time I try the spinning o't!
| The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie | |