We present this work in honor of the poet’s 320th birthday.

 

And are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he’s weel?
Is this a time to talk o’ wark?
Ye jades, fling by your wheel!
Is this a time to think o’ wark,
When Colin’s at the door?
Gie me my cloak! I’ll to the quay,
And see him come ashore.

For there’s nae luck aboot the hoose,
There’s nae luck ava’;
There’s little pleasure in the hoose,
When our gudeman’s awa’.

Rise up, and mak a clean fire-side,
Put on the muckle pot;
Gie little Kate her cotton gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat;
And make their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;
It’s a’ to please my ain gudeman,
He likes to see them braw.

For there’s nae luck aboot the hoose,
There’s nae luck ava’;
There’s little pleasure in the hoose,
When our gudeman’s awa’.

There are twa hens upon the bauk,
‘Been fed this month and mair,
Make haste and thraw their necks aboot,
That Colin weel may fare;
And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw;
It’s a’ to pleasure our gudeman,
For he’s been lang awa’.

For there’s nae luck aboot the hoose,
There’s nae luck ava’;
There’s little pleasure in the hoose,
When our gudeman’s awa’.

Come gie me down my bigonets,
My bishop-satin gown;
And rin and tell the Bailie’s wife
That Colin’s come to town;
My Sunday sheen they maun gae on,
My hose o’ pearl blue,
It’s a’ to please my ain gudeman,
For he’s baith leal and true.

For there’s nae luck aboot the hoose,
There’s nae luck ava’;
There’s little pleasure in the hoose,
When our gudeman’s awa’.

Sae true his words, sae smooth his speech,
His breath like caller air,
His very foot has music in’t,
When he comes up the stair:
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I’m downright dizzie wi’ the thought,
In troth I’m like to greet!

For there’s nae luck aboot the hoose,
There’s nae luck ava’;
There’s little pleasure in the hoose,
When our gudeman’s awa’.

The cauld blasts o’ the winter wind,
That thrilled through my heart.
They’re a’ blawn by; I hae him safe,
‘Till death we’ll never part;
But what puts parting in my mind?
It may be far awa;
The present moment is our ain.
The niest we never saw!

For there’s nae luck aboot the hoose,
There’s nae luck ava’;
There’s little pleasure in the hoose,
When our gudeman’s awa’.

Since Colin’s weel, I’m weel content,
I hae nae mair to crave;
Could I but live to make him blest,
I’m blest aboon the lave;
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I’m downright dizzie wi’ the thought,
In troth I’m like to greet!

For there’s nae luck aboot the hoose,
There’s nae luck ava’;
There’s little pleasure in the hoose,
When our gudeman’s awa’.