Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
Theres Nae Luck about the HouseWilliam Julius Mickle (17351788)
B
And are ye sure he’s weel?
Is this a time to think o’ wark?
Ye jauds, fling bye your wheel!
For there’s nae luck about the house,
There’s nae luck at a’;
There’s nae luck about the house,
When our gudeman’s awa’.
When Colin’s at the door?
Rax down my cloak—I’ll to the quay,
And see him come ashore.
Put on the muckle pot;
Gie little Kate her cotton gown,
And Jock his Sunday’s coat.
Their stockings white as snaw;
It’s a’ to pleasure our gudeman—
He likes to see them braw.
Hae fed this month or mair;
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare.
My stockins pearl-blue,—
It’s a’ to pleasure our gudeman,
For he’s baith leal and true.
His breath’s like cauler air;
His very foot has music in’t,
As he comes up the stair.
And will I hear him speak?
I’m downricht dizzy wi’ the thought,
In troth I’m like to greet.
There’s nae luck about the house,
There’s nae luck at a’;
There’s nae luck about the house,
When our gudeman’s awa’.