Page:Johnnie Cope.pdf/5

 Wiser men than me’s beguil’d,
 * Whistle o’er the lave o’t.

How we live—my Meg and me— How we love and how we gree— I dinna care how few may see,
 * Whistle o’er the lave o’t.

Wha I wish was maggot’s meat, Dish’d up in her winding-sheet, I could write but Meg maun see’t,
 * Whistle o’er the lave o’t.

Blythe was the time when he fee’t wi’ my father O,
 * appy war the days when we herded thegither O,

Sweet war the hours when he row’t me in his plaidie, O, An’ vow’t to be mine my dear Highland laddie, O.

But ah wars me! wi’ their sodg’ring see gaudy O, The haird wys’t awa my braw Highland laddie, O,