The Lass that Made the Bed

First printed in Johnson, 1796.

WHEN Januar wind was blawin cauld, blowing cold

       As to the North I took my way,

The mirksome night did me enfauld, darksome, enfold

       I knew na where to lodge till day. not

5 By my gude luck a maid I met good

       Just in the middle o’ my care;

And kindly she did me invite

       To walk into a chamber fair. —

I bow’d fu’ low unto this maid, full/well

10        And thank’d her for her courtesie;

I bow’d fu’ low unto this maid,

       An’ bade her mak a bed to me. —

She made the bed baith large and wide, both

       Wi’ twa white hands she spread it down; two

15 She put the cup to her rosy lips,

       And drank, ‘Young man now sleep ye soun’.’ — sound

She snatch’d the candle in her hand,

       And frae my chamber went wi’ speed; from

But I call’d her quickly back again

20        To lay some mair below my head.— more

A cod she laid below my head, pillow

       And servèd me with due respeck; respect

And to salute her wi’ a kiss,

       I put my arms about her neck.—

25 Haud aff your hands young man, she says, hold off

       And dinna sae uncivil be: do not so

Gif ye hae onie luve for me, if, have any

       O wrang na my virginitie!— wrong not

Her hair was like the links o’ gowd, gold

30        Her teeth were like the ivorie,

Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,

       The lass that made the bed to me. —

Her bosom was the driven snaw, snow

       Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see; two, so

35 Her limbs the polish’d marble stane, stone

       The lass that made the bed to me.—

I kiss’d her o’er and o’er again,

       And ay she wist na what to say; knew not

I laid her ’tween me an’ the wa’, wall

40        The lassie thocht na lang till day.— thought it not long

Upon the morrow when we rase,

       I thank’d her for her courtesie:

But ay she blush’d, and ay she sigh’d,

       And said, Alas, ye’ve ruin’d me. —

45 I clasp’d her waist, and kiss’d her syne, then

       While the tear stood twinklin in her e’e; eye

I said, My lassie, dinna cry, do not

       For ye ay shall mak the bed to me.— always

She took her mither’s holland sheets mother’s, fine linen

50        An’ made them a’ in sarks to me: shirts

Blythe and merry may she be,

       The lass that made the bed to me. —

The bonie lass made the bed to me,

       The braw lass made the bed to me; fine

55 I’ll ne’er forget till the day I die

       The lass that made the bed to me. —

Although Johnson printed this song as ‘Written for this work by Robert Burns’ it is not completely original. It is based upon an old lyric, Cumberland Nelly, sometimes called The North County Lovers, from the Pepys collection. (See Henley–Henderson, Vol. III, p. 420). Burns did not only preserve Scots songs in the Museum collection, but, as in this case, turned traditional English lyrics into Scots.