Tolv Folkeviser og Melodier fra fremmede Lande

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Een kalemanden rok,
Een wit mantlyntje d'rop.
En weet ye waer da'k weunen ?
Al in Sint Gillis dorp.
Een lynwaden kazakje,
Een biezeboomen rok;
En zou 'k daermeê niet lachen ?
De fruytpan op zyn kop.

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Should auld acquaintance be forgot
 And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
 And [auld]1 lang syne!
Chorus:
 For auld lang syne, my [jo]2,
   For auld lang syne,
 We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
   For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint stowp!
 And surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak a cup o'kindness yet,
 For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
 And [pa'd]3 the gowans fine;
But we've wander'd mony a weary [foot]4,
 Sin' auld lang syne.

We taw hae paidl'd in the burn,
 Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar'd,
 Sin auld lang syne.

And there 's a hand, my trusty fiere!
 And gie 's a hand o' thine!
And we'll take a right gude-willie-waught,
 For auld lang syne.

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, and then for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae chearful twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy:
Naething could resist my Nancy!
But to see her, was to love her,
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met - or never parted-
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.-

Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering Fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, 
Far marked with the courses of [clear]1, winding rills; 
There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow; 
There oft, as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet River, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.