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7
He little thought of Maggy’s toil;
as ſhe was by the fire,
But when he got a trial o’t,
he ſoon began to tire.
Firſt when he got the taſk in hand,
he thought all would go right,
But O he little wages had,
on Saturday at night.
He had no gain from wheel or reel,
nor yarn had he to ſell;
He wiſh’d for Maggy hame again,
being out of money and meal.
The de’il gaed o’er Jock Wabſter,
his loſs he could not tell;
But when he wanted Maggy’s help,
he did nae good himſel.
Another want I do not name,
all night he got no eaſe,
But tumbl’d grumbl’d in his bed,
a-fighting wi’ the flaes.
Wiſhing for Maggy’s muckle hips,
whereon the flaes might feaſt,
And for to be goodwife again,;
he ſwore it was nae jeſt.
There’s nae luck, &c.
