  O waly waly up the bank, And waly waly down the brae, And waly waly yon burn-side Where I and my Love wont to gae! I leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true Love did lichtly me. O waly waly, but love be bonny A little time while it is new; But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld And fades awa' like morning dew. O wherefore should I busk my head? Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true Love has me forsook, And says he'll never loe me mair. Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed; The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me: Saint Anton's well sall be my drink, Since my true Love has forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle Death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I am wearÍe. 'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town We were a comely sight to see; My Love was clad in the black velvÉt, And I mysell in cramasie. But had I wist, before I kist, That love had been sae ill to win; I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd And pinn'd it with a siller pin. And, O! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee, And I mysell were dead and gane, And the green grass growing over me! Anon. |
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