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Poem by Isabel Pagan
Account of the Author’s Lifetime
I was born near four miles from Nithhead, Where fourteen years I got my bread; My learning it can soon be told, Ten weeks when I was seven years old, With a good old religious wife, Who lived a quiet and sober life; Indeed she took of me more pains, Than some does now with forty bairns. With my attention and her skill, I read the Bible no’ that ill, An’ when I grew a wee thocht mair, I read when I had time to spare, But a’ the whole tract of my time, I found myself inclined to rhyme; When I see merry company, I sing a song with mirth and glee, And sometimes I the whisky pree, But ‘deed its best to let it be. A’ my faults I will not tell, I scarcely ken them a’ mysel’; I’ve come through various scenes of life, Yet never was a married wife.
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