Anonyme skotske folkeviser

O Waly waly up the bank,

        And waly waly down the brae,

And waly waly yon burn side,

        Where I and my love wer 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 lightly 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 wherfore shuld I busk my head?

        Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?

For my true love has me forsook,

        And says he’ll never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed,

        The sheets sall neir be fyl’d by me:

Saint Anton’s well sall be my drink,

        Since my true love has forsaken me.

Marti’mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw,

        And shake the green leaves aff the tree?

O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum?

        For of my life I am wearie.

Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,

        Nor blawing snaws inclemencie;

Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,

        But my loves heart grown cauld to me.

Whan we came in by Glasgowe town,

        We were a comely sight to see,

My love was cled i’ th’ black velvet,

        And I my sell in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kisst,

        That love had been sae ill to win;

I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,

        And pinnd it with a siller pin.

Oh oh! if my young babe were born,

        And set upon the nurses knee,

And I my sell were dead and gane!

        For a maid again Ise never be.