“Waly, waly”

O Waly, waly, up the bank, O waly, waly, doun the brae, And waly, waly, yon burn-side, Where I and my love were wont to gae! I leaned my back unto an aik, I thocht it was a trustie tree, But first it bowed and syne it brak’,— Sae my true love did lichtlie me. O waly, waly, but love be bonnie A little time while it is new! But when it ’s auld it waxeth cauld, And fadeth awa’ like the morning dew. O wherefore should I busk my heid, Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook, And says he ’ll never lo’e me mair. Noo Arthur’s Seat sall be my bed, The sheets sall ne’er be pressed by me; Saint Anton’s well sall be my drink; Since my true love’s forsaken me. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves off the tree? O gentle death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I am wearie. ’T is not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw’s inclemencie, ’T is not sic cauld that makes me cry; But my love’s heart grown cauld to me. When we cam’ in by Glasgow toun, We were a comely sicht to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, An’ I mysel’ in cramasie. But had I wist before I kissed That love had been so ill to win, I ’d locked my heart in a case o’ goud, And pinn’d it wi’ a siller pin. Oh, oh! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse’s knee; And I mysel’ were dead and gane, And the green grass growing over me!