WALY, WALY.
O waly waly up the bank,
And waly waly down the brae,
And waly waly yon burn-side,
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 brak,
Sae my true love did lightlie me.
O waly waly gin love be bonny,
A little time while it is new;
But when its auld it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa like morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my head,
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,
And says he'll never loe me mair.
Now Arthur-seat shall be my bed,
The sheets shall ne'er be fyl'd by me;
Saint Anton's well shall be my drink,
Since my true love has forsaken me.
Mart'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle death, when wilt thou cum?
For of my life I am wearie.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie;
‘Tis not sick cauld that makes me cry,
But my love's heart's grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town,
We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad i‘ th’ black velvet,
And I mysel in cramasie.
But had I wist before I kist,
That love had been sae ill to win,
I had lock'd my heart in a case of gowd,
And pinn'd it with a siller pin.
Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysel were dead and gone,
For a maid again I'll never be.