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8 The sun blinks kindly in my biel, Where blythe I turn my spinning wheel.

On lofty aiks the cushats wail, And echo cons the dolefu' tale; The lintwhites in the hazel braes, Delighted rival ither's lays: The craik amang the clover hay, The pairtrick whirring o'er the ley, The swallow jinkin' round my shiel, Amuse me at my spinnin' wheel.

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, Aboon distress below envy; O! wha wad leave this humble state, For a' the pride of a' the great? Amid their cumb'rous dinsome joys, Can they the peace and pleasure feel, Can they the peace and pleasure feel, Of Betsy at her spinning wheel.

FINIS.