And are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to talk o' wark?
Ye gauds fling by your wheel!
Is this a time to talk o' wark
When Colin's at the door?
Gi'e me my cloak! I'll to the quay
And see him come ashore.
Refrain:
For there's nae luck about the house
There's nae luck at a';
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gude-man's awa'.
Rise up and mak' a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot;
Gi'e little Kate her cotton gown
And Jock his Sunday coat.
And make their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hoses white as snaw;
It's a' to please (praise?) my ain gudeman,
For he's been long awa'.
There are twa hens upon the bauk,
Have fed this month and mair,
Mak' haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;
And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw;
For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa'?
Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech
His breath like caller air;
His very foot has music in't
As he comes up the stair.
The cauld blasts o' the winter wind,
That thrilled through my heart,
They're a' blawn by; I ha'e him safe,
Till death we'll never part:
But what puts parting in my head?
It may be far awa';
The present moment is our ain,
The neist we never saw.
Since Colin's weel, I'm weel content,
I hae nae mair to crave;
Could I but live to mak' him blest,
I'm blest aboon the lave:
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downricht dizzy wi' the thocht,
In troth I'm like to greet.
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