Rattlin', Roarin' Willie.

Tune - "Rattlin', roarin' Willie."


I.

    O rattlin', roarin' Willie,
        O, he held to the fair,
    An' for to sell his fiddle,
        An' buy some other ware;
    But parting wi' his fiddle,
        The saut tear blint his ee;
    And rattlin', roarin' Willie,
        Ye're welcome hame to me!

II.

    O Willie, come sell your fiddle,
        O sell your fiddle sae fine;
    O Willie, come sell your fiddle,
        And buy a pint o' wine!
    If I should sell my fiddle,
        The warl' would think I was mad;
    For mony a rantin' day
        My fiddle and I hae had.

III.

    As I cam by Crochallan,
        I cannily keekit ben,
    Rattlin', roarin' Willie
        Was sittin' at yon board en';
    Sitting at yon board en',
        And amang good companie;
    Rattlin', roarin' Willie,
        Ye're welcome hame to me I

Robert Burns

Robert Burns, also known as Rabbie Burns, the Bard of Ayrshire, and various other names and epithets, was a Scottish poet and lyricist. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland and is celebrated worldwide. Born on January 25, 1759, in Alloway, he is best known for works such as 'Auld Lang Syne,' 'Scots Wha Hae,' and 'A Red, Red Rose.' He passed away on July 21, 1796, in Dumfries.

Robert Burns

Last May A Braw Wooer.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

On A Celebrated Ruling Elder.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Cotter's Saturday Night. - Inscribed To Robert Aiken, Esq.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Such A Parcel Of Rogues In A Nation.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

O Willie Brew'd.

Tune - "Willie brew'd a peck o' maut."


I.

    O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut,
        And Rob and Allan came to see:
    Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night
        Ye wad na find in Christendie.
                We are na fou, we're no that fou,
                    But just a drappie in our e'e;
                The cock may craw, the day may daw,
                    And aye we'll taste the barley bree.

II.

    Here are we met, three merry boys,
        Three merry boys, I trow, are we;
    And mony a night we've merry been,
        And mony mae we hope to be!

III.

    It is the moon--I ken her horn,
        That's blinkin in the lift sae hie;
    She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
     ...

Robert Burns

What Can A Young Lassie.

Tune - "What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man."


I.

    What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,
        What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man?
    Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie
        To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan'!
    Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie
        To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan'!

II.

    He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin',
        He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang;
    He's doyl't and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen,
        O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man!
    He's doyl't and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen,
        O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man!

III.

    He hums and he ha...

Robert Burns

Wandering Willie. (Last Version.)

I.

    Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
        Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
    Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,
        Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

II.

    Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,
        Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e;
    Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,
        The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.

III.

    Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers,
        How your dread howling a lover alarms!
    Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,
        And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

IV.

    But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie,
        Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main;
    ...

Robert Burns

Country Lassie.

Tune - "The Country Lass."


I.

    In simmer, when the hay was mawn,
        And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
    While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
        And roses blaw in ilka bield;
    Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,
        Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will;
    Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild
        O' guid advisement comes nae ill.

II.

    It's ye hae wooers mony ane,
        And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken;
    Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,
        A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
    There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
        Fu' is his burn, fu' is his byre;
    Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,
        It's plenty beets the luver's fire.

III.

    For Johnie ...

Robert Burns

Wandering Willie. (First Version.)

I.

    Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
        Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame;
    Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie,
        And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

II.

    Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting;
        It was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e;
    Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie,
        The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.

III.

    Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers!
        O how your wild horrors a lover alarms!
    Awaken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,
        And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

IV.

    But if he's forgotten his faithfulest Nannie,
        O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main;...

Robert Burns

My Collier Laddie.

Tune - "The Collier Laddie."


I.

    Where live ye, my bonnie lass?
        An' tell me what they ca' ye;
    My name, she says, is Mistress Jean,
        And I follow the Collier Laddie.
    My name she says, is Mistress Jean,
        And I follow the Collier Laddie.

II.

    See you not yon hills and dales,
        The sun shines on sae brawlie!
    They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
        Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
    They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
        Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.

III.

    Ye shall gang in gay attire,
        Weel buskit up sae gaudy;
    And ane to wait on every hand,
        Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
    And ane to wa...

Robert Burns