Classic Poem

There lived a carl in Kellyburnbraes,
Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme;
And he had a wife was the plague o' his days,
And the thyme it is wither'd and rue is in prime;
And he had a wife was the plague o' his days,
And the thyme it is wither'd and rue is in prime. —

Ae day as the carl gaed up the lang-glen,
Hey &c.
He met wit the d-v-l, says, how do ye fen?
And &c.

I've got a bad wife, Sir, that 's a' my complaint,
Hey &c.
For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint,
And &c.

It 's neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave,
Hey &c.
But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have,
And &c.

O, welcome most kindly! the blythe carl said;
Hey &c.
But if ye can match her — ye're waur than ye're ca'd,
And &c.

The d-v-l has got the auld wife on his back,
Hey &c.
And like a poor pedlar he 's carried his pack,
And &c.

He 's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door,
Hey &c.
Syne bade her gae in for a b — ch and a wh — ,
And &c.

Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band,
Hey &c.
Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand,
And &c.

The carlin gaed thro' them like onie wud bear,
Hey &c.
Whae'er she gat hands on, cam near her nae mair,
And &c.

A reekit, wee devil looks over the wa',
Hey &c.
O help, Master, help! or she'll ruin us a',
And &c.

The d-v-l he swore by the edge o' his knife,
Hey &c.
He pitied the man that was ty'd to a wife,
And &c.

The d-v-l he swore by the kirk and the bell,
Hey &c.
He was not in wedlock, thank Heaven, but in h — ,
And &c.

Then Satan has travell'd again wi' his pack,
Hey &c.
And to her auld husband he 's carried her back,
And &c.

I hae been a d-v-l the feck o' my life,
Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme;
But ne'er was in h-ll till I met wi' a wife,
An' the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.
But ne'er was in h-ll till I met wi' a wife,
An' the thyme it is wither'd and rue is in prime.