THE
ROCK AND WEE PICKLE TOW.
There was an auld wife had a wee pickle tow,
and ſhe wad gae try the ſpinning o’t;
But looting her down, her rock took a low,
and that was an ill beginning o’t!
She ſpat on’t, ſhe ſlet on’t and trampt on its pow;
But a' that ſhe did only blew up the row!
She curs'd baith the rock and the wee pickle tow,
Alack! for the dreary ſpinning o’t.
I've wanted a ſark for theſe eight years and ten,
and this was to be the beginning o’t ;
But I vow' I ſhall want it for as lang again,
or ever I try the ſpinning o’t.
For ever, ſince ever they ca’d me’s they ca’ me,
Did fie a miſhap and miſhanter beſa’ me;
Ye ſhall hue leave baith to hang me and draw me,
If ever I try the ſpinning o’t.
I hae kept a houſe for theſe threefeore o'years
and never did try the ſpinning o’t;
But how I was ſarked, foul fa' them that ſpiers,
it minds me upo’ the beginning o’t:
But women are now a-days turned ſae braw,
That ilk-ane maun hae a ſark, ſone maun hae twa;
The warld was better when the sient ane ava,
To hinder the firſt beginning o’t.
Foul fa’ them that ever advis’d me to ſpin,
