the rose upon the breir will be him trews an' doublet,
wee willie gray, and his leather wallet,
twice a lily-flower will be him sark and cravat;
feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet,
feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns o aye my wife she dang me o aye my wife she dang me
chorus—o aye my wife she dang me,
an' aft my wife she bang'd me,
if ye gie a woman a' her will,
gude faith! she'll soon o'er-gang ye.
on peace an' rest my mind was bent,
and, fool i was! i married;
but never honest man's intent
sane cursedly miscarried.
o aye my wife, c.
some sairiefort at the last,
when a' thir days are done, man,
my pains o' hell on earth is past,
i'm sure o' bliss aboon, man,
o aye my wife, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns gude ale keeps the heart aboon gude ale keeps the heart aboon
chorus—o gude alees and gude ale goes;
gude ale gars me sell my hose,
sell my hose, and pawn my shoon—
gude ale keeps my heart aboon!
i had sax owsen in a pleugh,
and they drew a' weel eneugh:
i sell'd them a' just ane by ane—
gude ale keeps the heart aboon!
o gude alees, c.
gude ale hauds me bare and busy,
gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie,
stand i' the stool when i hae done—
gude ale keeps the heart aboon!
o gude alees, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns o steer her up an haud her gaun o steer her up an' haud her gaun
o steer her up, an' haud her gaun,
her mither's at the mill, jo;
an' gin she winna tak a man,
e'en let her tak her will, jo.
first shore her wi' a gentle kiss,
and ca' anither gill, jo;
an' gin she tak the thing amiss,
e'en let her flyte her fill, jo.
o steer her up, an' be na blate,
an' gin she tak it ill, jo,
then leave the lassie till her fate,
and time nae langer spill, jo:
ne'er break your heart for ae rebute,
but think upon it still, jo:
that gin the lassie winna do't,
ye'll find anither will, jo.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the lass o ecclefechan the lass o' ecclefechan
tune—“jack o' latin.”
gat ye me, o gat ye me,
o gat ye me wi' naething?
rock an reel, and spinning wheel,
a mickle quarter basin:
bye attour my gutcher has
a heich house and a laich ane,
a' forbye my bonie sel,
the toss o' ecclefechan.
o haud your tongue now, lucky lang,
o haud your tongue and jauner
i held the gate till you i met,
syne i began to wander:
i tint my whistle and my sang,
i tint my peace and pleasure;
but your green graff, now lucky lang,
wad airt me to my treasure.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns o let me in thes ae night o let me in thes ae night
o lassie, are ye sleepin yet,
or are ye waukin, i wad wit?
for love has bound me hand an' fit,
and i would fain be in, jo.
chorus—o let me in this ae night,
this ae, ae, ae night;
o let me in this ae night,
i'll noe back again, jo!
o hear'st thou not the wind an' weet?
nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet;
tak pity on my weary feet,
and shield me frae the rain, jo.
o let me in, c.
the bitter blast that round me blaws,
unheeded howls, unheeded fa's;
the cauldness o' thy heart's the cause
of a' my care and pine, jo.
o let me in, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns her answer her answer
o tell na me o' wind an' rain,
upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain,
gae back the gate ye cam again,
i winna let ye in, jo.
chorus—i tell you now this ae night,
this ae, ae, ae night;
and ance for a' this ae night,
i winna let ye in, jo.
the snellest blast, at mirkest hours,
that round the pathless wand'rer pours
is nocht to what poor she endures,
that's trusted faithless man, jo.
i tell you now, c.
the sweetest flower that deck'd the mead,
now trodden like the vilest weed—
let simple maid the lesson read
the weird may be her ain, jo.
i tell you now, c.
the bird that charm'd his summer day,
is now the cruel fowler's prey;
let witless, trusting, woman say
how aft her fate's the same, jo!
i tell you now, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns ill aye ca in by yon town i'll aye ca' in by yon town
air—“i'll gang nae mair to yon toun.”
chorus—i'll aye ca' in by yon town,
and by yon garden-green again;
i'll aye ca' in by yon town,
and see my bonie jean again.
there's nane sall ken, there's nane can guess
what brings me back the gate again,
but she, my fairest faithfu' lass,
and stownlins we sall meet again.
i'll aye ca' in, c.
she'll wander by the aiken tree,
when trystin time draws near again;
and when her lovely form i see,
o haith! she's doubly dear again.
i'll aye ca' in, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns o wat ye whas in yon town o wat ye wha's in yon town
tune—“i'll gang nae mair to yon toun.”
chorus—o wat ye wha's in yon town,
ye see the e'enin sun upon,
the dearest maid's in yon town,
that e'ening sun is shining on.
now haply down yon gay green shaw,
she wanders by yon spreading tree;
how blest ye flowers that round her blaw,
ye catch the glances o' her e'e!
o wat ye wha's, c.
how blest ye birds that round her sing,
and wee in the blooming year;
and doubly wee be the spring,
the season to my jeanie dear.
o wat ye wha's, c.
the sun blinks blythe on yon town,
among the broomy braes sae green;
but my delight in yon town,
and dearest pleasure, is my jean.
o wat ye wha's, c.
without my fair, not a' the charms
o' paradise could yield me joy;
but give me jeanie in my arms
and wee lapland's dreary sky!
o wat ye wha's, c.
my cave wad be a lover's bower,
tho' raging winter rent the air;
and she a lovely little flower,
that i wad tent and shelter there.
o wat ye wha's, c.
o sweet is she in yon town,
the sinkin, sun's gane down upon;
a fairer than's in yon town,
his setting beam ne'er shone upon.
o wat ye wha's, c.
if angry fate is sworn my foe,
and suff'ring i am doom'd to bear;
i careless quit aught else below,
but spare, o spare me jeanie dear.
o wat ye wha's, c.
for while life's dearest blood is warm,
ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart,
and she, as fairest is her form,
she has the truest, kindest heart.
o wat ye wha's, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns ballads on mr. herons election, 1795 ballads on mr. heron's election, 1795
ballad first
whom will you send to london town,
to parliament and a' that?
or wha in a' the country round
the best deserves to fa' that?
for a' that, and a' that,
thro' galloway and a' that,
where is the laird or belted knight
the best deserves to fa' that?
wha sees kerroughtree's open yett,
(and wha is't never saw that?)
wha ever wi' kerroughtree met,
and has a doubt of a' that?
for a' that, and a' that,
here's heron yet for a' that!
the independent patriot,
the honest man, and a' that.
tho' wit and worth, in either sex,
saint mary's isle can shaw that,