O waly waly, up the bank,
And waly waly, down the brae,
And waly by yon burnside,
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 brake,
And sae did my true Love to me.

O waly waly love is bonny,
A little time while it is new;
But when it's auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa' like morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my head?
O wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true Love has me forsook,
And says he'll never lo'e me mair.

Now Arthur-seat shall be my bed,
The sheets shall ne'er be warm'd by me;
Saint Anton's well shall be my drink,
Since my true Love's forsaken me.
O Mart'mas wind! when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
0 gentle Death! when wilt thou come,
And tak' a life that wearies me?