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 clap o' a hand,

and the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

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,

and the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

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.

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 by the kirk and the bell,

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.

then satan has travell'd again wi' his pack,

hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme;

and to her auld husband he's carried her back,

and the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

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,”

and the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.