Cauld blaws the wind frae north to south;
      The drift is drifting sairly;
    The sheep are cow’rin’ in the heuch;
      Oh, sirs, it ’s winter fairly! 
    Now, up in the mornin’s no for me,
      Up in the mornin’ early;
    I’d rather gae supperless to my bed
      Than rise in the mornin’ early.

    Loud roars the blast amang the woods,
      And tirls the branches barely;
    On hill and house hear how it thuds! 
      The frost is nippin’ sairly. 
    Now, up in the mornin’s no for me,
      Up in the mornin’ early;
    To sit a’ nicht wad better agree
      Than rise in the mornin’ early.

    The sun peeps ower yon southland hills,
      Like ony timorous carlie;
    Just blinks a wee, then sinks again;
      And that we find severely. 
    Now, up in the mornin’s no for me,
      Up in the mornin’ early;
    When snaw blaws in at the chimley cheek,
      Wha ‘d rise in the mornin’ early?

    Nae linties lilt on hedge or bush: 
      Poor things! they suffer sairly;
    In cauldrife quarters a’ the nicht,
      A’ day they feed but sparely. 
    Now, up in the mornin’s no for me,
      Up in the mornin’ early;
    A pennyless purse I wad rather dree,
      Than rise in the mornin’ early.

    A cosie house and canty wife
      Aye keep a body cheerly;
    And pantries stowed wi’ meat and drink,
      They answer unco rarely. 
    But up in the mornin’—­na, na, na! 
      Up in the mornin’ early! 
    The gowans maun glint on bank and brae
      When I rise in the mornin’ early.

[25] Burns composed two verses to the same tune, which is very old.  It was a favourite of Queen Mary, the consort of William III.  In his “Beggar’s Opera,” Gay has adopted the tune for one of his songs.  It was published, in 1652, by John Hilton, as the third voice to what is called a “Northern Catch” for three voices, beginning—­“I’se gae wi’ thee, my sweet Peggy.”

GO TO BERWICK, JOHNNIE.[26]

    Go to Berwick, Johnnie;
      Bring her frae the Border;
    Yon sweet bonnie lassie,
      Let her gae nae farther. 
    English loons will twine ye
      O’ the lovely treasure;
    But we ’ll let them ken
      A sword wi’ them we ’ll measure.

    Go to Berwick, Johnnie,
      And regain your honour;
    Drive them ower the Tweed,
      And show our Scottish banner. 
    I am Rob, the King,
      And ye are Jock, my brither;
    But, before we lose her,
      We ‘ll a’ there thegither.

[26] These stanzas are founded on some lines of old doggerel, beginning—­

    “Go, go, go,
      Go to Berwick, Johnnie;
    Thou shalt have the horse,
      And I shall have the pony.”

MISS FORBES’ FAREWELL TO BANFF.