9 Yet Thrift, industrious, bides her latest days,
Though Age her sair-dow'd front wi' runcles wave;
Yet frae the russet lap the spindle plays;
Her e'enin stent[42] reels she as weel's the lave.[43]
On some feast-day, the wee things buskit braw,
Shall heese her heart up wi' a silent joy,
Fu' cadgie that her head was up an' saw
Her ain spun cleedin' on a darlin' oy;[44]
Careless though death should mak the feast her foy.[45]
10 In its auld lerroch[46] yet the deas[47] remains,
Where the gudeman aft streeks[48] him at his ease;
A warm and canny lean for weary banes
O' labourers doylt upo' the wintry leas.
Round him will baudrins[49] an' the collie come,
To wag their tail, and cast a thankfu' ee,
To him wha kindly flings them mony a crumb
O' kebbuck[50] whang'd, an' dainty fadge[51] to prie;[52]
This a' the boon they crave, an' a' the fee.
11 Frae him the lads their mornin' counsel tak:
What stacks he wants to thrash; what rigs to till;
How big a birn[53] maun lie on bassie's[54] back,
For meal an' mu'ter[55] to the thirlin' mill.
Neist, the gudewife her hirelin' damsels bids
Glower through the byre, an' see the hawkies[56] bound;
Tak tent, case Crummy tak her wonted tids,[57]
An' ca' the laiglen's[58] treasure on the ground;
Whilk spills a kebbuck nice, or yellow pound.
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