But gin my new rock war anes cutted and And then frae our fingers to gnidge aff1 the dry, I'll all Maggy's cann an' her cantrips' defy, And, but ony sussie,2 the spinning I'll try, An' ye shall a' hear o' the beginning o't. PART II. Quo' Tibby, her dother, tak tent fat3 ye say, The never a rag we'll be seeking o't; Gin ye anes begin, ye'll tarveal's4 night an' day, Sae 'tis vain ony mair to be speaking o't. Since Lammas, I'm now gain' thirty an' twa, And never a dud sark had I yet great or sma', And what waur am I? I'm as warm an' as braw, hide, With the wearisome wark o' the rubbing o't. And syne ilka tait maun be heckled outthrow, The lint putten ae gate, anither the tow, Syne on on a rock wi't, and it taks a low, The back o' my hand 3 to the spinning o't. Quo' Jenny, I think, 'oman, ye're in the right, Set your feet ay a spar to the spinning o't; Let's tak an example by our ain mither's fright, That she got, when she try'd the beginning. o't. But they'll say, that auld fouk are twice bairns indeed, As thrummy-tail'd5 Meg, that's the And sae she has kyth'd it; 4 but there is nae spinner o't. To labour the lint land, and then buy the seed, And then to yoke me to the harrowing o't; need To siccan an amshach 5 that we drive our head, As lang's we're sae skair'd frae the spinning o't. And syne loll amon't and pick out ilka Quo' Nanny, the youngest, I've now heard weed, Like swine in a stye at the farrowing o't; Syne powing an' ripling, and steeping, and then To gar's gae and spread it upon the cauld plain, And then, after a', may be labour in vain, When the wind and the weet gets the fushion o't. But though it should anter7 the weather to bide, With beetles we're set to the drubbing o't; ye a', 2 Each little bit. 7 Milk-pail. 3 Good-by. 4 Proved it. 5 Such a misfortune. 8 Without. 9 A trollop. 10 Before I be beat. For well I can mind me, when black Willie Bell Had Tibbie there just at the winning o't; Fat blew up the bargain, she kens well hersel, Was the want o' the knack o' the spinning o't. And now, poor'oman, for ought that I ken. But were it for naething but just this alane, I shall yet hae a bout o' the spinning o't; They may cast me for calling me black at the bane, But nae 'cause I shun the beginning o't. But be that as it happens, I care not a strae, But nane of the lads shall e'er have it to say, When they come to woo, she kens naething avae, 3 Nor has ony knack o' the spinning o't. In the days they call yore, gin auld fouk had but won To a surcoat hough-side4 for the winning o't, Of coat raips, well cut to the cast of their bun, But we maun hae linen, and that maun hae we, And how get we that but by spinning o't? How can we hae face for to seek a great fee, Except we can help at the winning o't? And we maun hae pearlins, and mabbies, and cocks,1 And some ither things that the ladies ca' smocks, And how get we that, gin we tak nae our rocks, An' rug what we can at the spinning o't? 'Tis needless for us to mak ony remarks, Frae our mother's miscooking the spinn ing o't: She never kent ought o' the good o' the sarks, Frae this aback to the beginning o't. Twa three ells o' plaiden was a' that was sought. By auld warld bodies, and that boot be bought, For in ilka town siccan 3 things was na then wrought, So little they kent o' the spinning o't. In the first of the world, when Adam and Eve Was station'd here at the beginning o't, They never sought mair o' the spinning Their very first wark was to sew the fig o't. leaves, With spinning I hae a far happier life, Than Mary, the Queen, I'll warrant you o't; For she seldom lived free o' trouble or strife, For drinking, and dancing, and brulyies,1 For she kent nae the art o' the spinning But had they but ken'd her as I did, Their errand it wad hae been sma' ; She neither kent spinning nor carding, Nor brewing nor baking ava'. But wooers ran all mad upon her, Because she was bonny and braw, And sae I dread will be seen on her, When she's by hand, and awa'. Her mither says till her, Hegh, lassie, Sae swythe awa' hame to your hadding, But mind with a neiper1 you're yoked, Young luckie now finds hersell nidder'd,3 That hamewith were better to draw, ANONYMOUS POETRY. THE SPEECH OF A FIFE LAIRD NEWLY COME FROM THE GRAVE. [This characteristic Fifish speech, which after all has a considerable glimmering of common sense, first appeared in Watson's Collection, Part I., 1706.] WHAT accident, what strange mishap Or else, but doubt, my brains are raving: But in what part where I can be, I can find out no living man, I find great change in old Laird's places, O! this is strange, that even in Fife, For all things wyte's 3 that well not goes. It is the power of His hand, That make both lords and lairds have land. I Wonder. 2 The island of Lewis, A public and a common evil, Mark then, I'll tell you how it was, No drap-de-berry, clothes of seal; prietors tried to take possession. |