Will ye na can ye na let me be

There liv'd a wife in Whistle-cockpen Will ye na can ye na let me be, She brews gude yill for gentleman, And ay she waggit it wantonlie. The night blew sair wi' wind and weet, Will ye na can ye na let me be, She shaw'd the traveller ben to sleep, And ay she waggit it wantonlie. She saw a sight below his sark, Will ye na can ye na let me be, She wadna wanted it for a mark, And ay she waggit it wantonlie. She saw a sight aboon his knee, Will ye na can ye na let me be, She wadna wanted it for three, And ay she waggit it wantonlie. O whare live ye, and what's your trade? Will ye na can ye na let me be, I am a thresher gude, he said, And ay she waggit it wantonlie. And that's my flail and workin' graith, Will ye na can ye na let me be, And noble tools, quo' she, by my faith! And ay she waggit it wantonlie. I wad gie a browst, the best I hae, Will ye na can ye na let me be, For a gude darge o' graith like thae, And ay she waggit it wantonlie. I wad sell the hair frae aff my tail, Will ye na can ye na let me be, To buy our Andrew siccan a flail, And ay she waggit it wantonlie.