( 48 )
An Elegy on the death of Jocky's Mither.
NOW a body kens my mither's dead,
For weel I wat I bore her head,
And in the grave I ſaw her laid,
It was e'en right drole,
For to change a warm fire ſide;
For a cauld kirk hole,
But every ane tell'ſt juſt like a ſang,
That yon's the gate wi' have a' to gang.
For me to do't I think nae lang,
If I can do better,
For I true my mither thinks it nae ſang,
What needs we clatter.
But thanks to death ay for the future,
That did not let her get the ſuter,
For about her gear there wad been a ſplutter,
An ſae had been,
For he came ay ſnoaking about her
Late at e'en.
For our Maggy watch't an ſaw.
my mither's back was at the wa',
But what was hach ha, ha, ha,
I winna tell.
She to do yon ſtood little aw'
Juſt like myſel.
But to get gear was a' her drift,
An uſed mony a cunuing ſhift.
About her ſpinning her thrift,
Was a' her care,
She's gotten but little o't abnue the lift,
Wi' her to wear.
FINIS,
