Twa weavers/The twa weavers

THE TWA WEAVERS.

When war and taxation had fleec’d us right sair,
And made us like scaur-crows, a’ ragged and bare,
Two poor weaver bodies ae day chanc’d to meet,
Wi' scarcely a shoe on their stockingless feet;
Their skin through their auld tatter’d cleeding did shine,
And their beards might hae pass’d for a Bishop’s langsyne.

"Weel Robin" quo’ Thomas "what way do ye fen
And do ye aye live yet, out by at Woodend?
"Live!—faith I live naewhere, I starve at Tolcross,
Gude troth, I'm owre like you, and that is our loss;
For ilka thing now, does against us combine,
Which gar’s look back, wi’ regret on langsyne.

"These three weeks a' rinin, I’ve rise at three,
An’ wrought just as lang as a body could see,
An’ a’ that I’ve made ot', in that time I trow,
Wad scarce get potatoes an’ dross for a sow;
What then?—we are counted a parcel o’swine,
An’ laugh’d at, whene’er we look back to langsyne.

"But what need we speak o’ our ain private case,
When famine, and want, are pourtrayed on ilk face,
When thousands whose prospects in life once were fair,
Now pine in starvation, and sigh in despair,
When toil, and disease, and chill penury join,
To blast every comfort the poor had langsyne.

"Hech man!—if what you had stated be fact,
Our prospects indeed are most gloomy and black
"But do ye not think they may yet brighten up?
Indeed to be candid, I’ve nae siccan hope,
Unless the Black Book to the flames we consign,
And begin a new score like oar lathers langsyne.