Dear is my little native vale/Tarry woo is ill to spin

---

TARRY WOO IS ILL TO SPIN.

Tarry woo, tarry woo,
Tarry woo is ill to spin,
Card it well, card it well,
Card it well e'er ye begin.
When 'tis carded, rov'd and spun,
Then the wark ⟨is⟩ hastena done;
But when woven, drest, and clean
It may be cleading for a Queen.

Sing my bonny harmless sheep,
That feed upon the mountains steep;
Bleatng sweetly as they go,
Throngh the winters frost and snow;
Hart and hind, and fallow deer,
Not by ⟨half⟩ so ⟨useful⟩ are;
Free kings to him that ⟨hauds⟩ the plow,
Are all ⟨oblig'd⟩ to tarry woo.

Up ya shepherds, dance and skip,
O'er the hills and valleys trip,
Sing up the praise of tarry woo.
Sing the ⟨flocks⟩ that bear it too:
Harmless creatures without blame,
That cleads the back and warms the wame,
Keeps us warm and hearty fu';
Leeze me on the tarry woo.

How happy is a shepherd's life!
Far frae court and free from strife,
While the gimmers bleat and bar,
And the lambkins answer—mae!
No such music to his ear,
Of thief and fox he has no feir;
Sturdy kent, and colly too
Well defand the tarry woo.

He lives content and ⟨envies none⟩;
Not ev'n a monarch on his ⟨throne⟩
Though he the royal ⟨sceptre⟩ sways,
Has not sweeter holy days.
Who'd be a king, can ony tell
When a shepherd lives so well?
Sings sae weel a d pays his due,
With honest heart and tarry woo.