Poem by Robert Burns

The Weary Pund O’ tow

  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 poor pund o’ tow.

There sat a bottle in a bole,
  Beyond the ingle lowe,
And aye she took the tither souk
  To drouk the stowrie tow.

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.

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.

1. Blythe Was She
2. I Gaed a Waefu' Gate Yestreen
3. The Flowery Banks of Cree
4. The Banks of Nith (THE THAMES flows proudly to the sea)
5. Farewell to Ballochmyle

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