There lived a carl in Kellyburn Braes,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
And he had a wife was the plague of his days,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
Aeday as the carl gaed up the langglen,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
He met with the Devil, says, “How do you fen?”
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
I’ve got a bad wife, sir, that’s a’my complaint,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
“For, savin your presence, to her ye’re a saint,”
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
It’s neither your stot nor your staigI shall crave,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
“But gieme your wife, man, for her I must have,”
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
“O welcome most kindly!” the blythe carlsaid,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
“But if ye can match her ye’re waurthan ye’re ca’d,”
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
The Devil has got the auld wife on his back,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
And, like a poor pedlar, he’s carried his pack,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
He’s carried her hameto his ainhallandoor,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
Synebadeher gaein, for a bitch, and a whore,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o’ his band,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme:
Turn out on her guard in the clapo’ a hand,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
The carlingaedthro’ them like ony wudbear,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
Whae’er she gathands on camnear her naemair,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
A reekit weedeevil looks over the wa’,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
“O help, maister, help, orshe’ll ruin us a’!”
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
The Devil he swore by the edge o’ his knife,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
He pitied the man that was tied to a wife,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
The Devil he swore bythe kirkand the bell,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
He was not in wedlock, thank Heav’n, butin hell,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
Then Satan has travell’d again wi’ his pack,
Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme;
And to her auldhusband he’s carried her back,
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.
I haebeen a Devil the fecko’my life,
Hey, and the rue grows boniewi’ thyme;
“But ne’er was in hell tillI met wi’a wife,”
And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime.