The Flowers of the Forest (Fraser)/Nae Luck About the House
NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.
But are you sure the news is true?
And are you sure he’s weel?
Is this a time to talk o, wark?
Ye Jades, fling by your wheel.
Is this a time to talk o’ wark,
When Colin’s at the door?
Rax me my cloak, I’ll down the quay,
And see him come ashore.
For there’s nae luck about the house,
There’s nae luck ava;
There’s little pleasure in the house,
When our gudeman’s awa.
Rise up and mak a clean fireside;
Put on the muckle pat;
Gie little Kate her cotton gown,
And Jock his sunday’s coat:
And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;
It’s a’ to pleasure our gudeman,
He likes to see them braw.
For there’s nae luck, &c.
There are twa hens into the crib
Hae fed this month and mair,
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare:
And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw;
It’s a’ for love o’ our gudeman,
For he’s been lang awa.
For there's nae luck, &c.
O gie me down my bigonet,
My bishop satan gown,
And then gae tell the bailie’s wife,
That Colin’s come to town.
My Sunday’s shoon they maun gae on,
My hose o’ pearl blue;
And a’ to pleasure our gudeman,
For he’s baith leal and true.
For there's nae luck, &c.
Sae sweet his voice. sae smooth his tongue,
His breath’s like caller air;
His very tread has music in’t,
As he comes up the stair.
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I’m downright dizzy wi’ the joy,
In troth I’m like to greet.
For there’s nae luck, &c.
The cauld blasts o’ the winter wind,
That thirl’d thro’ my heart,
They’re a’ blawn by, I hae him safe,
Till death we’ll never part.
But what puts parting in my head?
It may be far awa;
The present moment is our ain,
The neist we never saw.
Since Colin's weel, I’m weel content;
I hae nae mair to crare.
Could I but live to mak him blest,
I’m blest aboon the lave.
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I’m downright dizzy wi’ the thought
In troth, I’m like to greet.