THE CAT 



The Cattie Sits in the Kiln-Ring 



The cattie sits in the kiln-ring, 



Spinning, spinning; 

 And by cam a little wee mousie, 



Binning, rinning. 



" Oh, what's that you're spinning, my loesome, 



Loesome lady ? " 

 " I'm spinning a sark to my young son," 



Said she, said she. 



" Weel mot he brook it, my loesome, 



Loesome lady." 

 " Gin he dinna brook it weel, he may brook it illj 



Said she, said she. 



" I soopit my house, my loesome, 



Loesome lady." 

 " 'Twas a sign ye didna sit amang dirt then," 



Said she, said she. 



'* I fand twall pennies, my winsome, 



Winsome lady." 

 " 'Twas a sign ye warna sillerless," 



Said she, said she. 



" I gaed to the market, my loesome, 



Loesome lady." 

 " 'Twas a sign ye didna sit at hame then," 



Said she, said she. 



170 



