by Robert Burns
371.
Lady Mary Ann (Song)
O LADY Mary Ann looks o’er the Castle wa’,
She saw three bonie boys playing at the ba’,
The youngest he was the flower amang them a’,
My bonie laddie’s young, but he’s growin’ yet.
O father, O father, an ye think it fit, 5
We’ll send him a year to the college yet,
We’ll sew a green ribbon round about his hat,
And that will let them ken he’s to marry yet.
Lady Mary Ann was a flower in the dew,
Sweet was its smell and bonie was its hue, 10
And the longer it blossom’d the sweeter it grew,
For the lily in the bud will be bonier yet.
Young Charlie Cochran was the sprout of an aik,
Bonie and bloomin’ and straught was its make,
The sun took delight to shine for its sake, 15
And it will be the brag o’ the forest yet.
The simmer is gane when the leaves they were green,
And the days are awa’ that we hae seen,
But far better days I trust will come again;
For my bonie laddie’s young, but he’s growin’ yet. 20
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372.
Kellyburn Braes (Song)
THERE lived a carl in Kellyburn Braes,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
And he had a wife was the plague of his days,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
Ae day as the carl gaed up the lang glen, 5
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
He met with the Devil, says, “How do you fen?”
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
I’ve got a bad wife, sir, that’s a’ my complaint,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; 10
“For, savin your presence, to her ye’re a saint,”
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
It’s neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
“But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have,” 15
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
“O welcome most kindly!” the blythe carl said,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
“But if ye can match her ye’re waur than ye’re ca’d,”
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. 20
The Devil has got the auld wife on his back,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
And, like a poor pedlar, he’s carried his pack,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
He’s carried her hame to his ain hallan door, 25
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
Syne bade her gae in, for a b — , and a w — ,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o’ his band,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme: 30
Turn out on her guard in the clap o’ a hand,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
The carlin gaed thro’ them like ony wud bear,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
Whae’er she gat hands on cam near her nae mair, 35
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
A reekit wee deevil looks over the wa’,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
“O help, maister, help, or she’ll ruin us a’!”
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. 40
The Devil he swore by the edge o’ his knife,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
He pitied the man that was tied to a wife,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
The Devil he swore by the kirk and the bell, 45
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
He was not in wedlock, thank Heav’n, but in hell,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
Then Satan has travell’d again wi’ his pack,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; 50
And to her auld husband he’s carried her back,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
I hae been a Devil the feck o’ my life,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
“But ne’er was in hell till I met wi’ a wife,” 55
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
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373.
The Slave’s Lament (Song)
IT was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral,
For the lands of Virginia, — ginia, O:
Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more;
And alas! I am weary, weary O:
Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; 5
And alas! I am weary, weary O.
All on that charming coast is no bitter snow and frost,
Like the lands of Virginia, — ginia, O:
There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow,
And alas! I am weary, weary O: 10
There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow,
And alas! I am weary, weary O:
The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear,
In the lands of Virginia, — ginia, O;
And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear, 15
And alas! I am weary, weary O:
And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear,
And alas! I am weary, weary O:
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374.
O can ye Labour Lea? (Song)
Chorus — O can ye labour lea, young man,
O can ye labour lea?
It fee nor bountith shall us twine
Gin ye can labour lea.
I FEE’D a man at Michaelmas, 5
Wi’ airle pennies three;
But a’ the faut I had to him,
He could na labour lea,
O can ye labour lea, &c.
O clappin’s gude in Febarwar, 10
An’ kissin’s sweet in May;
But my delight’s the ploughman lad,
That weel can labour lea,
O can ye labour lea, &c.
O kissin is the key o’ luve, 15
And clappin’ is the lock;
An’ makin’ o’s the best thing yet,
That e’er a young thing gat.
O can ye labour lea, &c.
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375.
The Deuks dang o’er my Daddie (Song)
THE BAIRNS gat out wi’ an unco shout,
The deuks dang o’er my daddie, O!
The fien-ma-care, quo’ the feirrie auld wife,
He was but a paidlin’ body, O!
He paidles out, and he paidles in, 5
An’ he paidles late and early, O!
This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,
An’ he is but a fusionless carlie, O.
O haud your tongue, my feirrie auld wife,
O haud your tongue, now Nansie, O: 10
I’ve seen the day, and sae hae ye,
Ye wad na ben sae donsie, O.
I’ve seen the day ye butter’d my brose,
And cuddl’d me late and early, O;
But downa-do’s come o’er me now, 15
And oh, I find it sairly, O!
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376.
The Deil’s awa wi’ the Exciseman (Song)
THE DEIL cam fiddlin’ thro’ the town,
And danc’d awa wi’ th’ Exciseman,
And ilka wife cries, “Auld Mahoun,
I wish you luck o’ the prize, man.”
Chorus. — The deil’s awa, the deil’s awa, 5
The deil’s awa wi’ the Exciseman,
He’s danc’d awa, he’s danc’d awa,
He’s danc’d awa wi’ the Exciseman.
We’ll mak our maut, and we’ll brew our drink,
We’ll laugh, sing, and rejoice, man, 10
And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil,
That danc’d awa wi’ th’ Exciseman.
The deil’s awa, &c.
There’s threesome reels, there’s foursome reels,
There’s hornpipes and strathspeys, man, 15
But the ae best dance ere came to the land
Was the deil’s awa wi’ the Exciseman.
The deil’s awa, &c.
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377.
The Country Lass (Song)
IN simmer, when the hay was mawn,
And corn wav’d green in ilka field,
While claver blooms white o’er the lea
And roses blaw in ilka beild!
Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel, 5
Says— “I’ll be wed, come o’t what will”:
Out spake a dame in wrinkled eild;
“O’ gude advisement comes nae ill.
“It’s ye hae wooers mony ane,
And lassie, ye’re but young ye ken; 10
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale
A routhie butt, a routhie ben;
There’s Johnie o’ the Buskie-glen,
Fu’ is his barn, fu’ is his byre;
Take this frae me, my bonie hen, 15
It’s plenty beets the luver’s fire.”
“For Johnie o’ the Buskie-glen,
I dinna care a single flie;
He lo’es sae weel his craps and kye,
He has nae love to spare for me; 20
But blythe’s the blink o’ Robie’s e’e,
And weel I wat he lo’es me dear:
Ae blink o’ him I wad na gie
For Buskie-glen and a’ his gear.”
“O thoughtless lassie, life’s a faught; 25
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
But aye fu’-han’t is fechtin’ best,
A hungry care’s an unco care:
But some will spend and some will spare,
An’ wilfu’ folk maun hae their will; 30
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,
Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.”
“O gear will buy me rigs o’ land,
And gear will buy me sheep and kye;
But the tender heart o’ leesome love, 35
The gowd and siller canna buy;
We may be poor — Robie and I —
Light is the burden love lays on;
Content and love brings peace and joy —
What mair hae Queens upon a throne?” 40
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378.
Bessy and her Spinnin Wheel (Song)
O LEEZE me on my spinnin’ wheel,
And leeze me on my rock and reel;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me biel and warm at e’en;
I’ll set me down and sing and spin, 5
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi’ content, and milk and meal,
O leeze me on my spinnin’ wheel.
On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit cot; 10
The scented birk and hawthorn white,
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie’s nest,
And little fishes’ caller rest;
The sun blinks kindly in the beil’, 15
Where blythe I turn my spinnin’ wheel.
On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And Echo cons the doolfu’ tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither’s lays; 20
The craik amang the claver hay,
The pairtrick whirring o’er the ley,
The swallow jinkin’ round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinnin’ wheel.
Wi’ sma’ to sell, and less to buy, 25
Aboon distress, below envy,
O wha wad leave this humble state,
For a’ the pride of a’ the great?
Amid their flairing, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 30
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinnin’ wheel?
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379.
Love for love (Fragment of a Song)
ITHERS seek they ken na what,
Features, carriage, and a’ that;
Gie me love in her I court,
Love to love maks a’ the sport.
Let love sparkle in her e’e; 5
Let her lo’e nae man but me;
That’s the tocher-gude I prize,
There the luver’s treasure lies.
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380.
Saw ye Bonie Lesley (Song)
O SAW ye bonie Lesley,
As she gaed o’er the Border?
She’s gane, like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.
To see her is to love her, 5
And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,
And never made anither!
Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects, we before thee; 10
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,
The hearts o’ men adore thee.
The deil he could na scaith thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee;
He’d look into thy bonie face, 15
And say— “I canna wrang thee!”
The Powers aboon will tent thee,
Misfortune sha’na steer thee;
Thou’rt like themselves sae lovely,
That ill they’ll ne’er let near thee. 20
Return again, fair Lesley,
Return to Caledonie!
That we may brag we hae a lass
There’s nane again sae bonie.
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381.
No cold approach (Fragment of a Song)
NO cold approach, no altered mien,
Just what would make suspicion start;
No pause the dire extremes between,
He made me blest — and broke my heart.
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382.
I’ll meet thee on the Lea Rig (Song)
WHEN o’er the hill the eastern star
Tells bughtin time is near, my jo,
And owsen frae the furrow’d field
Return sae dowf and weary O;
Down by the burn, where birken buds 5
Wi’ dew are hangin clear, my jo,
I’ll meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind Dearie O.
At midnight hour, in mirkest glen,
I’d rove, and ne’er be eerie, O, 10
If thro’ that glen I gaed to thee,
My ain kind Dearie O;
Altho’ the night were ne’er sae wild,
And I were ne’er sae weary O,
I’ll meet thee on the lea-rig, 15
My ain kind Dearie O.
The hunter lo’es the morning sun;
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
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At noon the fisher seeks the glen
Adown the burn to steer, my jo: 20
Gie me the hour o’ gloamin’ grey,
It maks my heart sae cheery O,
To meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind Dearie O.
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383.
My Wife’s a winsome wee thing (Song)
Air— “My Wife’s a Wanton Wee Thing.”
Chorus. — She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a lo’esome wee thing,
This dear wee wife o’ mine.
I NEVER saw a fairer, 5
I never lo’ed a dearer,
And neist my heart I’ll wear her,
For fear my jewel tine,
She is a winsome, &c.
The warld’s wrack we share o’t; 10
The warstle and the care o’t;
Wi’ her I’ll blythely bear it,
And think my lot divine.
She is a winsome, &c.