5
Mak' hast and thraw their necks about,
That Collin weel may fare;
And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw,
It's a’ for love o’ my gudeman,
For he's been lang awa.
For there's nae luck, &c.
O gi'e me down my biggonets,
My Bishop satin gown,
For I maun tell the Bailie’s wife,
That Collin's come to town.
My Sunday's shoon they maun gae on.
My hose o’ pearl blue,
It’s a' to please my ain gudeman,
For ce's baith leal and true.
For there’s nae luck, &c.
Sae true’s his words, sae smooth’s 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 thought,
In troth I’m like to greet.
For there’s nae luck, &c.
UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.
Bauld blaws the win' frae north to south,
And drift is driving sairly;
