A cod she laid below my head,
     And served me with due respect,
     And, to salute her wi’ a kiss,
     I put my arms about her neck. 
     The bonie lass, &c.

     “Haud aff your hands, young man!” she said,
     “And dinna sae uncivil be;
     Gif ye hae ony luve for me,
     O wrang na my virginitie.” 
     Her hair was like the links o’ gowd,
     Her teeth were like the ivorie,
     Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
     The lass that made the bed to me: 
     The bonie lass, &c.

     Her bosom was the driven snaw,
     Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see;
     Her limbs the polish’d marble stane,
     The lass that made the bed to me. 
     I kiss’d her o’er and o’er again,
     And aye she wist na what to say: 
     I laid her ‘tween me and the wa’;
     The lassie thocht na lang till day. 
     The bonie lass, &c.

     Upon the morrow when we raise,
     I thank’d her for her courtesie;
     But aye she blush’d and aye she sigh’d,
     And said, “Alas, ye’ve ruin’d me.” 
     I claps’d her waist, and kiss’d her syne,
     While the tear stood twinkling in her e’e;
     I said, my lassie, dinna cry. 
     For ye aye shall make the bed to me. 
     The bonie lass, &c.

     She took her mither’s holland sheets,
     An’ made them a’ in sarks to me;
     Blythe and merry may she be,
     The lass that made the bed to me.

     Chorus—­The bonie 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 to me.

Had I The Wyte?  She Bade Me

     Had I the wyte, had I the wyte,
     Had I the wyte? she bade me;
     She watch’d me by the hie-gate side,
     And up the loan she shaw’d me.

     And when I wadna venture in,
     A coward loon she ca’d me: 
     Had Kirk an’ State been in the gate,
     I’d lighted when she bade me.

     Sae craftilie she took me ben,
     And bade me mak nae clatter;
     “For our ramgunshoch, glum gudeman
     Is o’er ayont the water.”

     Whae’er shall say I wanted grace,
     When I did kiss and dawte her,
     Let him be planted in my place,
     Syne say, I was the fautor.

     Could I for shame, could I for shame,
     Could I for shame refus’d her;
     And wadna manhood been to blame,
     Had I unkindly used her!

     He claw’d her wi’ the ripplin-kame,
     And blae and bluidy bruis’d her;
     When sic a husband was frae hame,
     What wife but wad excus’d her!

     I dighted aye her e’en sae blue,
     An’ bann’d the cruel randy,
     And weel I wat, her willin’ mou
     Was sweet as sugar-candie.

     At gloamin-shot, it was I wot,
     I lighted on the Monday;
     But I cam thro’ the Tyseday’s dew,
     To wanton Willie’s brandy.