But if my dear wife should hain the charge
As I expect she will,
And if she says, The auld will do,
By my word she shall ha'e her will.
If my dear wife should wish to gang,
To see a neebor or friend,
A horse or a chair I will provide,
And a servant to attend.
But if my dear wife shall hain the charge,
As I expect she will,
And if she says, I'll walk on foot,
By my word she shall lia'c her will.
If my dear wife shall bring me a son,
As I expect she will,
Cake and wine I will provide,
And a nurse to nurse the child.
But if my dear wife shall hain the charge,
As I expect she will,
And if she says, She'll nurs't hersel',
By my word she shall ha'e her will.
Lord Gregory.
[Written by Burns for Thomson's collection. Peter Pindar (Dr. Wolcot) had previously written verses on the same subject for the same collection. Both songs are founded on the fine old ballad called "The Lass of Lochryan."]
Oh, mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempests roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it may na be.
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove
By bonnie Irvine side,
Where first I own'd that virgin love
I lang lang had denied?
How aften didst thou pledge the vow,
Thou wad for aye be mine!
And my fond heart, itsel' sae true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.
Hard is thy heart. Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast!
Thou dart of heaven that flashes by,
Oh, wilt thou give me rest!
Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see;
But spare and pardon my false love
His wrongs to heaven and me!
Open the door to me.
[Written or altered by Burns for Thomson's collection.]
Oh, open the door, some pity show
Oh, open the door to me, oh!
Though thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
Oh, open the door to me, oh!
Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, oh!
The frost that freezes the life at my heart,
Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh!
The wan moon is setting behind the white wave,
And time is setting with me, oh:
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
I'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, oh!
She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide
She sees his pale corse on the plain, oh!
My true love, she cried, and sunk down by his side,
Never to rise again, oh!
My auld Man.
[Given by Ritson from a common collection the title of which, he says, he had forgot. Allan Cunningham prob.ibly took the hint of his song called "The Wanton Wife" (see page 93) from the present one.]
In the land of Fife there lived a wicked wife,
And in the town of Cupar then,
Who sorely did lament, and made her complaint,
Oh when will ye die, my auld man?
