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By Thomas Given

We read o’ meetings to support

The risin’ nerra-gauge,
Which is to be the strength and fort
O’ every comin’ age.
We read o’ controversies lang,
O’ puirhoose jaw and vapour,
But seldom does the weavers’ wrang
Bedeck the public paper
On ony day.

Oor wabs are lang an’ ill to weave –
Sometimes the yarn is bad –
Till scanty claes, wi’ ragget sleeve,
Is seen on lass an’ lad.
But noo guid fortune we’ll attain,
For orators sae thrifty
Will gar the dreeper clip his chain
Wa’ doon tae twa-an’-fifty
On ilka day.

Queels maun be wun when claith is wroucht,
An’ pickers, shears an’ treadles,
Tallow an’ temples maun be boucht,
An’ floor tae dress the heddles.
Then meat tae gar the wee yins leeve,
Maun come as weel’s the tackle,
But shure the wages we receive
Wud hardly buy them treacle
Tae meal this day.

How aisy ‘’tis for men tae preach
Whun riches they hae got,
An’ wae self-interest’s purse-hurt screech,
Ca’ us a sinfu’ lot.
But, haud a wee! ye men o’ wealth!
Though noo for breath yer pantin’,
We ax nae favours gained by stealth –
It’s justice that we’re wantin’ –
Nae mair this day.

I ne’er was blessed wae gift o’ gab,
Like some great learned men,
Instead o’ school, I wove my wab,
Before that I was ten.
Though noo I’m auld an’ gray’s my hair,
I’ve studied weel the sense o’t,
For work let us get wages fair,
Nae matter ’boot the length o’t
On ony day.