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Broadside ballad entitled 'Lamentation on the Loss of the Whittle'
Lamentation On The Loss Of The whittle.
My whittle's lost! yet I dinna ken ;
A Peerie and a peerie-string?
The big auld button that' I found
And, last of a', some oat-cake crumbs.
Yet aye I turn them o'er and o'er,
I doot it's lost !?how, whaur, and whan.
Is mair than I can understan'-
Whether it jamp out o' my pouch
But mony a gate I've been since them.
Ower hill and hollow, anuir and feu,
Made o' the very best metal,
It aye cam in to be o' use,
Whether out-by or in the hoose ?
Or cuttin out my name on trees:
To whyet a stick or cut a string,,
I micht as weel live wanti'vittle.
As try to live withoot my whittle
You birkies scamperin' doon the road?
I'd like to join the joysome crowd:
My feet seem tied to ane an enither;
I'm clean dang doited a' thegither,
It was the only thing o' worth
Puir whittle ! whaur will ye be now!
Lyin a' cover'd ower wi'grass?
Or sinkin' doon in some morass?
Or may ye be already faund,
And in some ither body's hand?
When we're a' dead, and sound encuch!
Ye may be turned up by the pleuch !
Thus, a' the comfort I can bring
Is to belive that , on a board,
Wi' broken speer, and dirk, and sword,
Probable period of publication:
1860-1890 shelfmark: L.C.Fol.70(13a)