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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 eer 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 oer my pow.

At last her feet-I sang to seet-
  Gaed foremost oer the knowe;
And or I wad anither jad,
  Ill wallop in a tow.

                      Robert Burns

Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Theres News, Lasses
  2. Scroggam
  3. The Toast
  4. Where are the Joys
  5. My Wifes a Winsome Wee Thing

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