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Tarry woo, tarry woo,
Tarry woo is ill to spin,
Card it weel, card it weel,
Card it weel ere ye begin.
When ’tis carded, row’d and spun,
Then the work is haflens done;
But when woven, drest and clean,
It may be cleading for a queen.
Sing, my bonny harmless sheep,
That feed upon the mountains steep,
Bleeting sweetly as ye go
Thro' the winter's frost and snow;
Hart and hynd and fallow deer
No be ha‘f so useful are;
Frae kings to him that hands the plow,
Are all oblig'd to tarry woo.
Up ye shepherds, dance and skip,
O'er the hills and valleys trip,
Sing up the praise of tarry woo,
Sing the flocks that bear it too:
Harmless creatures without blame,