Queen Mary's lamentation (1823)/Tak' your auld cloke about ye

TAK 'YOUR AULD CLOKE ABOUT YE.

In winter when the rain rain'd cauld,
And frost and snaw on ilka hill,
And Boreas, wi' his blasts sae bauld,
Was threat'ning a'our kye to kill;
Then Bell, my wife, wha lo'es nae strife,
She said to me right hastily,
Get up gudeman, save Cromie's life
And tak’ your auld cloke about ye.

O Bell why dost thou flyte and scorn?
Thou kens my cloke is very thin:
It is sae bare and overworn,
A cricket thereon canna rin;
Then I'll nae mair barrow nor lend,
For I'll ance mair apparell'd be,
To-morrow I'll to the town and spend
And I'll hae a new cloke abont me.

My Cromie is an useful cow,
And she is come of a good kin',
Aft has she wat the bairns mou',
And I am laith that she should tine;
Get up, gudeman; it is fou time,
The sun shines in the lift sae hie;
Sloth never made a gracions end,
Gae tak' your auld cloke about ye.

My cloke was once a gude grey cloke,
When it was fitting for my wear;
But now its scantly worth a groat,
For I ha'e worn't this thretty year:
Let's spend the gear that we hae won,
We little ken the day we'll die:
Then I'll be proud, since I hae sworn
To hae a new cloke about me.

In days when our King Robert rang,
His trows they coast but ha'f a crown,
He said thy were a groat o'er dear,
And ca'd the tailor thief and loan:
He was a king that wore a crown,
And thou'rt a man of laigh degree;
'Tis pride brings a' the kintra down,
Sae tak’ thy auld cloke about thee.

Every land has its ain laugh,
Ilk kind o' corn has its ain hool;
I think the warld is a' run rang,
When ilka wife her man wad rule;
Do ye not see Rob, Jock, and Hab
How they are girded gallantly,
While I sit hurklin in the ase?
I'll hae a new cloke about me.

Gudeman, I wat 'tis thretty years,
Since we did ane anither ken;
And we hae had between us twa,
O lads and bonny lassies ten:
Now, they are women grown and men,
I wish and pray weel may they be;
And if you prove a good husband,
E'en tak' your auld cloke about ye.

Bell, my wife, she lo'es nae strife
But she will guide me if she can;
And, to maintain an easy life,
I aft maun yield, though I'm gudeman.
Noughts to be won at woman's hand,
Unless ye gi'e her a' the plea;
Then I'll leave aff where I began,
And tak' my auld cloke about me.