Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed,
     The spot they ca’d it Linkumdoddie;
     Willie was a wabster gude,
     Could stown a clue wi’ ony body: 
     He had a wife was dour and din,
     O Tinkler Maidgie was her mither;
     Sic a wife as Willie had,
     I wad na gie a button for her!

     She has an e’e, she has but ane,
     The cat has twa the very colour;
     Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,
     A clapper tongue wad deave a miller: 
     A whiskin beard about her mou’,
     Her nose and chin they threaten ither;
     Sic a wife as Willie had,
     I wadna gie a button for her!

     She’s bow-hough’d, she’s hein-shin’d,
     Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter;
     She’s twisted right, she’s twisted left,
     To balance fair in ilka quarter: 
     She has a lump upon her breast,
     The twin o’ that upon her shouther;
     Sic a wife as Willie had,
     I wadna gie a button for her!

     Auld baudrons by the ingle sits,
     An’ wi’ her loof her face a-washin;
     But Willie’s wife is nae sae trig,
     She dights her grunzie wi’ a hushion;
     Her walie nieves like midden-creels,
     Her face wad fyle the Logan Water;
     Sic a wife as Willie had,
     I wadna gie a button for her!

Lady Mary Ann

     O lady Mary Ann looks o’er the Castle wa’,
     She saw three bonie boys playing at the ba’,
     The youngest he was the flower amang them a’,
     My bonie laddie’s young, but he’s growin’ yet.

     O father, O father, an ye think it fit,
     We’ll send him a year to the college yet,
     We’ll sew a green ribbon round about his hat,
     And that will let them ken he’s to marry yet.

     Lady Mary Ann was a flower in the dew,
     Sweet was its smell and bonie was its hue,
     And the longer it blossom’d the sweeter it grew,
     For the lily in the bud will be bonier yet.

     Young Charlie Cochran was the sprout of an aik,
     Bonie and bloomin’ and straught was its make,
     The sun took delight to shine for its sake,
     And it will be the brag o’ the forest yet.

     The simmer is gane when the leaves they were green,
     And the days are awa’ that we hae seen,
     But far better days I trust will come again;
     For my bonie laddie’s young, but he’s growin’ yet.

Kellyburn Braes

     There lived a carl in Kellyburn Braes,
     Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
     And he had a wife was the plague of his days,
     And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.

     Ae day as the carl gaed up the lang glen,
     Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
     He met with the Devil, says, “How do you fen?”
     And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.