The Poetical Works of William Julius Mickle including several original pieces, with a new life of the author. By the Rev. John Sim |
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THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE. |
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 | The Poetical Works of William Julius Mickle |  |
THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.
And are you sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to think of wark!
Mak haste, lay by your wheel;
Is this the time to spin a thread
When Colin's at the door!
Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay
And see him come ashore.
And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to think of wark!
Mak haste, lay by your wheel;
Is this the time to spin a thread
When Colin's at the door!
Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay
And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There is nae luck at aw;
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
There is nae luck at aw;
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
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And gie to me my bigonet,
My bishop's satin gown;
For I maun tell the bailie's wife
That Colin's come to town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My stockings pearly blue;
'Tis aw to pleasure my gudeman
For he's baith leel and true.
My bishop's satin gown;
For I maun tell the bailie's wife
That Colin's come to town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My stockings pearly blue;
'Tis aw to pleasure my gudeman
For he's baith leel and true.
For there's nae luck, &c.
Rise, lass, and mak a clean fire side,
Put on the muckle pot,
Gie little Kate her button gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat;
And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw,
It's aw to please my ain gudeman.
For he's been lang awa.
Put on the muckle pot,
Gie little Kate her button gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat;
And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw,
It's aw to please my ain gudeman.
For he's been lang awa.
For there's nae, &c.
There's twa fat hens upo' the bauk
Been fed this month and mair,
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;
And mak the table neat and clean,
Let every thing look braw,
For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa.
Been fed this month and mair,
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;
And mak the table neat and clean,
Let every thing look braw,
For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa.
Ah, there's nae, &c.
Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,
His breath like cauler air,
His very foot has music in't
As he comes up the stair!
And shall I see his face again,
And shall I hear him speak!
I'm downright dizzy wi the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
His breath like cauler air,
His very foot has music in't
As he comes up the stair!
And shall I see his face again,
And shall I hear him speak!
I'm downright dizzy wi the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae, &c.
“The caul blasts of the winter wind,
“That thrilled through my heart,
“They're aw blawn by, I hae him safe,
“Till death we'll never part:
“But why should I of parting tauk,
“It may be far awa;
“The present moment is our ain,
“The neist we never saw .”
“That thrilled through my heart,
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“Till death we'll never part:
“But why should I of parting tauk,
“It may be far awa;
“The present moment is our ain,
“The neist we never saw .”
For there's nae, &c.
If Colin's weel, and weel content,
I hae nae mair to crave—
And gin I live to keep him sae,
I'm blest aboon the lave.
And shall I see his face again,
And shall I hear him speak!
I'm downright dizzy wi the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
I hae nae mair to crave—
And gin I live to keep him sae,
I'm blest aboon the lave.
And shall I see his face again,
And shall I hear him speak!
I'm downright dizzy wi the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae, &c.
| The Poetical Works of William Julius Mickle | |