Robert Burns

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me; I said there was naething I hated like men: The deuce gae wi 'm to believe me, believe me, The deuce gae wi 'm to believe me. He spak o' the darts in my bonie black een, And vow'd for my love he was diein; I said he might die when he liked for Jean: The Lord forgie me for liein, for liein, The Lord forgie me for liein! A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird, And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers: I never loot on that I ken'd it, or car'd, But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, But thought I might hae waur offers. But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less, (The deil tak his taste to gae near her!) He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her. But a' the niest week I fretted wi' care, I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, And wha but my fine fickle lover was there, I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock. I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. But owre my left shoulder I gae him a blink, Lest neibors might say I was saucy; My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, And vow'd I was his dear lassie. I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, Gin she had recover'd her hearin, And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet— But, heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin, But, heavens! how he fell a swearin. He begg'd, for gudesake, I wad be his wife, Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow: So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw, but blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo! John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither, And monie a cantie day, John, We've had wi' ane anither; Now we maun totter down, John, And hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo!

It was a' for our rightful king That we left fair Scotland's strand; It was a' for our rightful king We e'er saw Irish land, My dear, We e'er saw Irish land. Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain! My love, and native land, fareweel! For I maun cross the main, My dear, For I maun cross the main. He turn'd him right and round about, Upon the Irish shore, He gave his bridle-reins a shake, With, Adieu for evermore, My dear! And adieu for evermore! The soldier frae the war returns, And the merchant frae the main. But I hae parted frae my love, Never to meet again, My dear, Never to meet again. When day is gone and night is come, And a' folk bound to sleep, I think on him that's far awa The lee-lang night, and weep, My dear, The lee-lang night, and weep.

How can I keep my maidenhead, My maidenhead, my maidenhead; How can I keep my maidenhead, Among sae mony men, O. The Captain bad a guinea for’t, A guinea for’t, a guinea for’t, The Captain bad a guinea for’t, The Colonel he bad ten, O. But I’ll do as my minnie did, My minnie did, my minnie did, But I’ll do as my minnie did, For siller I’ll hae nane, O. I’ll gie it to a bonie lad, A bonie lad, a bonie lad; I’ll gie it to a bonie lad, For just as gude again, O. An auld moulie maidenhead, A maidenhead, a maidenhead; An auld moulie maidenhead, The weary wark I ken, O. The stretchin’ o’t, the strivin’ o’t, The borin o’t, the rivin’ o’t, And ay the double drivin o’t, The farther ye gang ben, O.

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie! There Simmer first unfald her robes, And there the langest tarry: For there I took the last Fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay, green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom; As underneath their fragrant shade, I clasp'd her to my bosom! The golden Hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my Dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder: But Oh! fell Death's untimely frost, That nipt my Flower sae early! Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, That wraps my Highland Mary! O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly! And clos'd for ay the sparkling glance, That dwalt on me sae kindly! And mouldering now in silent dust, That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary.

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, She's gotten poets o' her ain— Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, But tune their lays, Till echoes a' resound again Her weel-sung praise. Nae poet thought her worth his while To set her name in measur'd style: She lay like some unken'd-of isle Beside New Holland, Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil Besouth Magellan. Ramsay and famous Fergusson Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon; Yarrow and Tweed to mony a tune Owre Scotland rings; While Irvin, Lugar, Ayr an' Doon Naebody sings. Th' Ilissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine Glide sweet in mony a tunefu' line; But, Willie, set your fit to mine And cock your crest, We'll gar our streams and burnies shine Up wi' the best! We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells, Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, Where glorious Wallace Aft bure the gree, as story tells, Frae Southron billies. At Wallace' name what Scottish blood But boils up in a spring-tide flood! Oft have our fearless fathers strode By Wallace' side, Still pressing onward red-wat-shod, Or glorious dy'd. O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods,. When lintwhites chant amang the buds, And jinkin hares in amorous whids Their loves enjoy, While thro' the braes the cushat croods Wi' wailfu' cry! Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me, When winds rave thro' the naked tree; Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree Are hoary gray; Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, Dark'ning the day! O Nature! a' thy shews an' forms To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms! Whether the summer kindly warms Wi' life an' light, Or winter howls in gusty storms The lang, dark night! The Muse, nae poet ever fand her, Till by himsel he learn'd to wander Adoun some trottin burn's meander, And no think lang; O sweet to stray and pensive ponder A heart-felt sang! The warly race may drudge and drive, Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch an' strive: Let me fair nature's face descrive, And I wi' pleasure Shall let the busy, grumbling hive Bum owre their treasure.

Is there, for honest poverty, That hings his head, an' a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, an' a' that, Our toils obscure, an' a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp; The man's the gowd for a' that, What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin-gray, an' a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, Their tinsel show an' a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, an' a' that, His riband, star, an' a' that, The man o' independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith he mauna fa' that! For a' that, an' a' that, Their dignities, an' a' that, The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, an' a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that.

Duncan Gray came here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! On blythe Yule night when we were fou, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Maggie coost her head fu high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin owre a linn; Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Slighted love is sair to bide, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! "Shall I, like a fool," quoth he, "For a haughty hizzie die? She may gae to—France for me!"— Ha, ha, the wooin o't! How it comes let doctors tell, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Meg grew sick as he grew hale, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings; And O! her een, they spak sic things Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; Now they're crouse and cantie baith; Ha, ha, the wooin o't!

[First Setting] Comin thro' the rye, poor body, Comin thro' the rye, She draigl't a' her petticoatie Comin thro' the rye. [ CHORUS. ] Oh Jenny 's a' weet poor body Jenny 's seldom dry, She draigl't a' her petticoatie Comin thro' the rye. Gin a body meet a body Comin thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body — Need a body cry. Oh Jenny 's a' weet, &c. Gin a body meet a body Comin thro' the glen; Gin a body kiss a body — Need the warld ken! Oh Jenny 's a' weet, &c. [Second Setting] Gin a body meet a body, comin thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, need a body cry; Ilka body has a body, ne'er a ane hae I; But a' the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I. Gin a body meet a body, comin frae the well, Gin a body kiss a body, need a body tell; Ilka body has a body, ne'er a ane hae I, But a the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I. Gin a body meet a body, comin frae the town, Gin a body kiss a body, need a body gloom; Ilka Jenny has her Jockey, ne'er a ane hae I, But a' the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I.

Chorus Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows Ca' them where the burnie rows, My bonie dearie. Hark! the mavis' evening sang Sounding Cluden's woods amang, Then a-fauldin let us gang, My bonie dearie. We'll gae down by Cluden side, Thro' the hazels spreading wide, O'er the waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly. Yonder Cluden's silent towers, Where at moonshine midnight hours, O'er the dewy-bending flowers, Fairies dance sae cheery. Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; Thou 'rt to love and Heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near, My bonie dearie. Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou hast stown my very heart; I can die—but canna part, My bonie dearie.