I.

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, Beyont the ingle low, And ay 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.