Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
372 . SongKellyburn Braes
T
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.
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. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; “For, savin your presence, to her ye’re a saint,” And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; “But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have,” And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; “But if ye can match her ye’re waur than ye’re ca’d,” And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; And, like a poor pedlar, he’s carried his pack, And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; Syne bade her gae in, for a b—, and a w—, And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme: Turn out on her guard in the clap o’ a hand, And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; Whae’er she gat hands on cam near her nae mair, And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; “O help, maister, help, or she’ll ruin us a’!” And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; He pitied the man that was tied to a wife, And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; He was not in wedlock, thank Heav’n, but in hell, And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; And to her auld husband he’s carried her back, And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; “But ne’er was in hell till I met wi’ a wife,” And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.