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　　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.

　　"h 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. Poems and Songs of Robert Burns