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The Song Book 203
Rise up and make a clean fire-side,
Put on the mickle pat; Gie little Kate her cotton goun,
And Jock his Sunday's coat. And make their shoon as black as slaes,
Their stockins white as snaw ; It's a' to pleasure our guidman,
He likes to see them braw.
Cho. For there's nae luck, &c.
There are twa hens into the crib,
Ha'e fed this month and mair, Mak haste and thraw their necks about
That Colin weel may fare. My Turkey slippers I'll put on,
My stockins pearl blue ; It's a' to pleasure our guidman,
For he's baith leal and true.
Cho. For there's nae luck, &c.
Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue,
His breath's like cauler air j His very fit has music in't,
As 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 truth I'm like to greet.
Cho. For there's nae luck, &c.
Chambers. From Herd's Collection. |
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