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She ne'er was ca'd chancy, but canny and ſlim,
An' fae it has far'd o' my ſpinning o't.
But if my new rock was ance cutted and dry,
I'll a' Maggy's cann and her cantrips defy,
An' but any ſuſſie, the ſpinning I'll try,
An' ye's a' hear o' the beginning o't.
Quo' Tibby her daughter, tak tent fat ye ſay,
The never a rag we'll be ſeeking o't';
Gin ye ance begin, ye'll tire's night an' day,
Sae 'tis vain ony mair to be ſpeaking o't.
Since Lammas I'm now gane thirty and twa,
An' ne'er a chid ſark had I e'er girt or ſmad,
An' what war am I, I'm as warm an' as braw,
As thrummy-tail'd Meg that's a ſpinner o't.
To labour the lint-land, and then buy the ſeed,
An' then to yoke me to the harrowing o't,
And fyne loll amon't, an' pick out ilk weed,
Like ſwine in a ſty at the farrowing o't.
Syne powing, an' ripling, an' ſteeping, an' then
To gar's gae an' ſpread it upo' the cald plain,
An' then after a', may be labour in vain,
When the wind an' the weet gets the fuſion o't.
But though it ſhould anter the weather to bide,
Wi' beetles we're ſet to the drubbing o't;
An' then frae our fingers to guide aff the hide,
Wi the weariſome wark of the rubbing o't.
An' ſyne ilka tait maun be heckl'd out throw,
The lint putten ae gate, anither the tow,
Syne on a rock wi't, an' it take a low:
The back o' my hand to the ſpinning o't.
Quo' Jeany, I think woman ye're in the right,
Set your feet ay a-ſpar to the ſpinning o't,
We may tak our advice frae our ain mither's fright
That the gat when ſhe try'd the begining o't.
But they ſay, that auld fouks are twice beirns indeed,
An' fae ſhe has kyth'd its but there is nae need
To ſicken an amſhach that we drive our head,
As langs we're fae ſtear'd-frae the ſpinning o't.
