366. Song—The weary Pund o' Tow

 Chorus.
—The weary pund, the weary pund,
 The weary pund o’ tow;
I think my wife will end her life,
 Before she spin her tow.



I BOUGHT my wife a stane o’ lint,
 As gude as e’er did grow,
And a’ that she has made o’ that
 Is ae puir pund o’ tow.

 The weary pund, &c.



There sat a bottle in a bole,
 Beyont the ingle low;
And aye she took the tither souk,
 To drouk the stourie tow.

 The weary pund, &c.



Quoth I, For shame, ye dirty dame,
 Gae spin your tap o’ tow!
She took the rock, and wi’ a knock,
 She brak it o’er my pow.

 The weary pund, &c.



At last her feet—I sang to see’t!
 Gaed foremost o’er the knowe,
And or I wad anither jad,
 I’ll wallop in a tow.

 The weary pund, &c.

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