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| 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. | |
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| Ae day as the carl gaed up the lang glen, | 5 |
| 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. | |
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| I’ve got a bad wife, sir, that’s a’ my complaint, | |
| Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; | 10 |
| “For, savin your presence, to her ye’re a saint,” | |
| And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. | |
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| It’s neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave, | |
| Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; | |
| “But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have,” | 15 |
| And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. | |
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| “O welcome most kindly!” the blythe carl said, | |
| Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; | |
| “But if ye can match her ye’re waur than ye’re ca’d,” | |
| And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. | 20 |
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| 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. | |
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| He’s carried her hame to his ain hallan door, | 25 |
| Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; | |
| Syne bade her gae in, for a b—, and a w—, | |
| And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. | |
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| Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o’ his band, | |
| Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme: | 30 |
| Turn out on her guard in the clap o’ a hand, | |
| And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. | |
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| The carlin gaed thro’ them like ony wud bear, | |
| Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; | |
| Whae’er she gat hands on cam near her nae mair, | 35 |
| And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. | |
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| A reekit wee deevil looks over the wa’, | |
| Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; | |
| “O help, maister, help, or she’ll ruin us a’!” | |
| And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. | 40 |
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| 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. | |
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| The Devil he swore by the kirk and the bell, | 45 |
| Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; | |
| He was not in wedlock, thank Heav’n, but in hell, | |
| And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. | |
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| Then Satan has travell’d again wi’ his pack, | |
| Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; | 50 |
| And to her auld husband he’s carried her back, | |
| And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. | |
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| I hae been a Devil the feck o’ my life, | |
| Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ thyme; | |
| “But ne’er was in hell till I met wi’ a wife,” | 55 |
| And the thyme it is wither’d, and rue is in prime. | |
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