Page:Jim Crow.pdf/6

 Haud awa, bide awa,

Haud awa frae me, Donald;

What care I for a’ your wealth,

An a’ that ye can gi’e, Donald?

He wears nae plaid, nor tartan hose,

Nor garters at his knee, Donald;

But O he wears a faithfu’ heart,

And love blinks in his e’e, Donald.

Sae haud awa, bide awa,

Come nae mair at e’en, Donald;

I wadna break my Jamie’s heart,

To be a Highland Queen, Donald.  

O this is no my plaid,

My plaid, my plaid,

O this is no my plaid,

Bonny though the colours be.

The ground of mine was mix’d wi’ blue,

I got it frae the lad I loe;

He ne’er has gi’en me cause to rue,

And O the plaid was dear to me.

Farewell ye lowland plaids o’ grey,

Nae kindly charms for me ye hae,

The tartan shall be mine for aye,

For O the colour’s dear to me.

For mine was silky, saft and warm,

It wrapped me round frae arm to arm,

And like mysel’ it bore a charm,

And O the plaid is dear to me.