T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
The Lass That Made the Bed for Me
By Robert Burns (1759–1796)(From Johnson’s Museum, 1796) WHEN Januar’ wind war blawin’ cauld, | |
| As to the north I took my way. | |
| The mirksome night did me enfauld, | |
| I knew not where to lodge till day; | |
| But by good luck a maid I met, | 5 |
| Just in the middle o’ my care, | |
| And kindly she did me invite | |
| To walk into her chamber fair. | |
| I bowed fu’ low unto this maid, | |
| And thanked her for her courtsie; | 10 |
| I bowed fu’ low unto this maid, | |
| An’ bade her make a bed to me; | |
| She made the bed baith large and wide, | |
| Wi’ twa white hands she spread it doun; | |
| She put the cup to her rosy lips, | 15 |
| And drank—“Young man, now sleep ye soun.” | |
| Chorus: The bonnie lass made the bed to me, | |
| The braw lass made the bed to me, | |
| I’ll ne’er forget till the day I die, | |
| The lass that made the bed for me. | 20 |
| She snatch’d the candle in her hand, | |
| And frae my chamber went wi’ speed; | |
| But I called her quickly back again, | |
| To lay some mair below my head; | |
| A cod she laid below my head, | 25 |
| And served me with due respect, | |
| And, to salute her wi’ a kiss, | |
| I put my arms about her neck. | |
| “Haud off your hands, young man!” she said, | |
| “And dinna see uncivil be; | 30 |
| Gif ye hae any Love for me, | |
| O wrang na my virginitie.” | |
| Her hair was like the links of gowd, | |
| Her teeth were like the ivorie, | |
| Her cheeks like lillies dipt in wine, | 35 |
| The lass that made the bed to me. | |
| Her bosom was the driven snaw, | |
| Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see; | |
| Her limbs the polished marble stane, | |
| The lass that made the bed to me. | 40 |
| I kiss’d her o’er and o’er again, | |
| And ay she wist na what to say; | |
| I laid her ’tween me and the wa’, | |
| The lassie thocht na lang till day. | |
| Upon the morrow when we rose, | 45 |
| I thanked her for her courtesie; | |
| But aye she blushed and aye she sigh’d, | |
| And said, “Alas, ye’ve ruin’d me.” | |
| I clasp’d her waist, and kiss’d her— | |
| While the tear stood twinkling in her e’e; | 50 |
| I said, “My lassie, dinna cry, | |
| For ye ay shall make the bed for me.” | |
| She took her mither’s holland sheets, | |
| And made them a’ in sarks to me. | |
| Blythe and merry may she be, | 55 |
| The lass that made the bed to me. | |