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Rh He little thought of Maggy’s toil;

as ſhe was by the fire,

But when he got a trial o’t,

he ſoon began to tire.

Firſt when he got the taſk in hand,

he thought all would go right,

But O he little wages had,

on Saturday at night.

He had no gain from wheel or reel,

nor yarn had he to ſell;

He wiſh’d for Maggy hame again,

being out of money and meal.

The de’il gaed o’er Jock Wabſter,

his loſs he could not tell;

But when he wanted Maggy’s help,

he did nae good himſel.

Another want I do not name,

all night he got no eaſe,

But tumbl’d grumbl’d in his bed,

a-fighting wi’ the flaes.

Wiſhing for Maggy’s muckle hips,

whereon the flaes might feaſt,

And for to be goodwife again,;

he ſwore it was nae jeſt.

There’s nae luck, &c.