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But they'll ſay ſhe's a wiſe wife that kens her ain weird:
I thought ance a day it would never been ſpeer'd,
How lote ye the low tak your rock by the beard,
When ye gaed to try the ſpinning o't.
The ſpinning, the ſpinning it gars my heart ſob,
When I think upon the beginning o't,
I thought ere I died to ha'e ance made a web,
But ſtill I had fears o' the ſpinning o't.
But had I nine daughters, as I ha'e but three,
The ſafeſt and ſonndeſt advice I could gie,
That they frae ſpinning wad keep their hands free,
For fear of a bad beginning o't.
Yet in ſpite o' my counſel if they will needs run,
The drearyſome riſk o' the ſpinning o't,
Let them ſeek out a lythe in the heat o' the ſun,
And there venture on the beginning o't.
But to do as I did, alas! and awow!
To buſk up a rock at the cheek o' the low,
Says, that I had but little wit in my pow,
And as little ado wi' the ſpinning o't.
But yet after a', there is ae thing that grieves
My heart, to think o' the beginning o't,
Had I won the length but o' ae pair o' ſleeves,
Then there wad been words o' the ſpinning o't.
Theſe I wad hae waſhen and bleech'd like the ſnaw,
An' on my twa gardies like mogans wad draw,
An' then fouk wad ſay, that auld Girzy was braw,
An' a' was upo' her ain ſpinning o't.
But gin I cou'd ſhog about till a new ſpring,
I ſhou'd yet hae a bout o' the ſpinning o't,
A mutchkin o' lintſeed I'd in the yerd fling,
For a' the wanchanſy beginning o't.
I'd gar my ain Tammie gae down to the low,
An' cut me a rock' of a widderſhin's grow,
Of good roun-tree for to carry my tow.
An' a ſpindle o' the ſame for the twining o't.
For now fan I mind me, I met Maggy Grim,
