3
Rise up an' mak' a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot;
Gi'e little Kate her cotton gown,
And Jock his Sunday's coat.
And mak' their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been lang awa.
There are two hens upon the bauk,
They've fed this month and mair,
Mak' haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;
And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw;
It's a' for love of my gudeman,
For he's been lang awa.
Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,
His breath like caller air,
His very foot has music in't,
When he comes up the stair.
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thocht,
In troth I'm like to greet.
The cauld blasts o' the winter wind,
That thirl'd through my heart,
