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For when we were married, our cleedin was thin,
And poortith, ye ken, made me eydent to ſpin;
‘Twas ſain love o‘ you that firſt gart me begin,
And bleſſings hae follow'd the ſpinning o‘t.
When mornings were cauld, and the keea froſt and ſnaw
were blawing, I mind the beginning it,
And ye gade to wark, be it froſt or be't thaw,
my tak was nae leſs at the ſpinning o‘t.
But now we've a pantry baith muckle and fa'
O' iika thing gude for to gang in the mou‘;
A barrel o' ale, wi‘ ſome maul for to brew,
To mak us forget the beginning o‘t.
And when winter comes back, wi' the ſnell hail and rain,
nae mair I‘!l ſit down to the ſpinning o‘t;
Nor you gang and toil in the cauld fields again,
as little think on the beginning o't.
O ſheep we has ſcorer, and o'kye twanty-five,
Far left we hae ſeen wad hae made us ſu' blythe
But thriſt and induſtry maks poor ſeuk to thrive,
A clear proof o' that is the ſpinninig o't.
Altho‘ at our marriage our ſteck was but ſma',
and heartleſs and hard the beginning o't,
When ye was engag'd the cuſen to ca',
and firſt my young ſkill tried the ſpinning it:
But now we can dreſs in cur plaidies ſae ſma',
Fu neat and ſa' clean gae to kirk or to ha',
And ay look as blyth as the beſt o' them a';
Sae lucky has been the beginning o't.
