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 And waly by yon river side,

Where I and my love wont to gae,

O waly, waly, love is bonnie,

A little while when it is new:

But when its auld it waxes cauld,

And wears awa’ like morning dew.

I leant my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trusty tree;

But first he bow‘d, and then it brake,

And sae did my fause love to me.

When cockle-shells turn silver bells,

And mussels grow on ev‘ry tree,

When frost and snaw shall warm us a‘,

Then shall my love prove true by me.

Now Arthur’s seat shall be my bed,

The sheets shall ne’er be fyl’d by me;

St Anthon’s well shall be my drink,

Since my fause love’s forsaken me.

O Mart‘mas wind when wilt thou blaw,

And shake the green leaves aff the tree;

O gantle Death, when wilt thou come,

And tak a life that wearies me.

It‘s not the frost that freezes fell,

Nor blawing-snaw’s inclemency;