Scottish Lyrics, Book 1

Up wi' the carls of Dysart,
  And the lads o' Buckhiven,
And the Kimmers o' Largo,
  And the lasses o' Leven.
     Hey ca' thro' ca' thro'
       For we hae mickle a do,
     Hey ca' thro ca' thro'
       For we hae mickle a do.

We hae tales to tell,
  And we hae sangs to sing;
We hae pennies to spend,
  And we hae pints to bring.
     Hey ca' thro' ca' thro'...

We'll live a' our days,
  And them that comes behin', 
Let them do the like,
  And spend the gear they win.
     Hey ca' thro' ca' thro'...

We’ll hap and row, we'll hap and row,
⁠We'll hap and row the feetie o't;
It is a wee bit weary thing:
⁠I downa bide the greetie o't.

And we pat on the wee bit pan,
⁠To boil the lick o' meatie o't;
A cinder fell and spoil'd the plan,
⁠And burnt a' the feetie o't.

Fu' sair it grat, the puir wee brat,
⁠And aye it kick'd the feetie o't,
Till, puir wee elf, it tired itself;
⁠And then began the sleepie o't.

The skirling brat nae parritch gat,
⁠When it gaed to the sleepie o't;
It's waesome true, instead o' 'ts mou'
⁠They're round about the feetie o't.

I'll gar our gudeman trow
⁠I'll sell the ladle,
If he winna buy to me
⁠A bonnie side-saddle,
To ride to kirk and bridal,
⁠And round about the town;
Stand about, ye fisher jauds,
⁠And gi'e my gown room!

I'll gar our gudeman trow
⁠I'll tak' the fling-strings,
If he winna buy to me
⁠Twal bonnie gowd rings;
Ane for ilka finger,
⁠And twa for illia thoom;
Stand about, ye fisher jauds,
⁠And gi'e my gown room!

I'll gar our gudeman trow
⁠That I'm gaun to die,
If he winna fee to me
⁠Valets twa or three,
To bear my train up frae the dirt,
⁠And ush me through the town,
Stand about, ye fisher jauds,
⁠And gi'e my gown room!

Simmer 's a pleasant time,
  Flowers of every colour;
The water rins o'er the heugh,
  And I long for my true lover!
Chorus:
Ay waukin, Oh,
  Waukin still and weary:
Sleep I can get nane,
  For thinking on my Dearie. -

When I sleep I dream,
  When I wauk I'm irie;
Sleep I can get nane,
  For thinking on my Dearie. -
     Ay waukin, Oh...

Lanely night comes on,
  A' the lave are sleepin:
I think on my bonie lad,
  And I bleer my een wi' greetin. -
     Ay waukin, Oh...

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 dying;
I said, he might die when he liked for Jean -
  The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying,
  The Lord forgie me for lying!

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird,
  And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers:
I never loot on that I kend 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 as I petted 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,
  Least neebors 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 begged, 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 tomorrow, tomorrow,
  I think I maun wed him tomorrow.

The Robin to the Wren's nest 
Cam keekin' in, cam keekin' in; 
O weel's me on your auld pow, 
Wad ye be in, wad ye be in? 
Thou's ne'er get leave to lie without, 
And I within, and I within, 
Sae lang's I hae an auld clout 
To rowe ye in, to rowe ye in.

The lovely lass o' Inverness,
  Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e'en [to]1 morn she cries, (Alas!)
  And ay the saut tear blins her e'e:

« Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,
  A waefu' day it was to me !
For there I lost my father dear,
  My father dear and brethren three.

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,
  Their graves are growing green to see,
And by them lies the dearest lad
  That ever blest a woman's e'e!

Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
  A bluidy man I trow thou be,
For monie a heart thou has made sair
  That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee! »

Hey, the dusty Miller, 
And his dusty coat, 
He will win a shilling, 
Or he spend a groat: 
Dusty was the coat, 
Dusty was the colour, 
Dusty was the kiss 
That I gat frae the Miller. 

Hey, the dusty Miller, 
And his dusty sack; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck: 
Fills the dusty peck, 
Brings the dusty siller; 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty Miller.