‘Good morning, good morning, good morning,’ said he:
‘O where are you going, my pretty lady?’
‘I am going a-walking by the clear crystal stream,
To see cool waters glide and hear nightingales sing.’

‘O soldier, O soldier, will you marry me?’
‘Oh, no my sweet lady, that never can be:
For I’ve got a wife at home in my own country;
Two wives and the army’s too many for me.’

As I was a-walking one morning in May
I spied a young couple a-making of hay.
O one was a fair maid and her beauty shone clear,
And the other was a soldier, a bold grenadier.

O who’s like my Johnny,
Sae leish, sae blith, sae bonny,
He’s foremost of the mony
Keel lads o’coaly Tyne.

He’ll set and row so tightly,
Or in the dance so sprightly,
He’ll cut and shuffle sightly,
’Tis true, were he not mine.

He wears a blue bonnet,
A dimple in his chin.
And weel may the keel row
That my laddie’s in.

My love hath wealth and beauty,
Rich suitors attend her door,
My love hath wealth and beauty,
She slights me because I’m poor.
The ribbon fair that bound her hair
Is all that is left to me,
While here I lie alone
To die beneath the willow tree.

I once had gold and silver,
I thought them without end,
I once had gold and silver,
I thought I had a true friend.
My wealth is lost, my friend is false,
My love hath he stolen from me,
While here I lie alone
To die beneath the willow tree.

The gardener was standing by:
I bade him choose for me.
He chose me the lily and the violet and the pink
But these I refused all three.

Thyme it is the prettiest thing,
And time it will grow on,
And time it will bring all things to an end,
And so does my time grow on.

It’s very well drinking ale,
And it’s very well drinking wine:
But it’s far better sitting by a young man’s side
That has won this heart of mine.

As I was a-walking and a-talking one day,
I met my own true love, as he came that way.
O to meet him was a pleasure, though the courting was a woe,
For I found him false-hearted, he would kiss me and go.

I wish I were a scholar and could handle the pen,
I would write to my lover and to all roving men.
I would tell them of the grief and woe that attend on their lies,
I would wish them have pity on the flower when it dies.

I have stockings of silk,
Shoes of fine green leather,
Combs to buckle my hair,
And a ring for every finger.

Some say he’s black,
But I say he’s bonny,
The fairest of them all
My handsome, winsome Johnny.

Feather beds are soft,
And painted rooms are bonny,
But I would leave them all
To go with my love Johnny.

I know where I’m going,
And I know who’s going with me,
I know who I love
But the dear knows who I’ll marry!

He sighed in his singing and made a great moan,
Sing willow, willow, willow!
I am dead to all pleasure, my true love is gone!
O willow, O willow my garland shall be.
Sing all a green willow,
Ah me! the green willow my garland must be.

I love my mill, she is to me
Both parent, child and wife.
I would not change my station
For another one in life.
Then push, push, push the bowl, my boys,
And pass it round to me;
The longer we sit here and drink,
The merrier we shall be.

Then like the miller bold and free
Let us rejoice and sing.
The days of youth were made for glee,
And time is on the wing.
This song shall pass from me to thee
Around this jovial ring:
Let heart and voice and all agree
To sing ‘Long live the King!’.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far marked with the courses of clear winding rills.
There daily I wander as dawn rises high,
My flocks and my Mary’s sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow!
There oft as mild evening creeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays.
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Robert Burns (1759-1796)