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Rh His teeth with ſnow-drops may compare,

his breath with new-mown hay;

He’s bonnieſt where the bonny come,

and baith can ſing and ſay:

Gang down the burn, my Meg, he cry’d,

Gang down the burn wi’ me,

I kenzd what he’d be at, and ſaid,

I winna gang wi’ thee.

If to the wimpling burnie I,

ſoon go to waſh my claiths,

The bonny lad his winſome flute

tunes o’or the neighbouring braes;

At e’en, as hame I do return,

frae milking mither’s ky,

He’ll tak my leglen o’er the bent,

and lilt ſae blithſomely,

Gang down the burn, my Meg, he cry’d,

Gang down the burn wi’ me:

I ken’d what he’d be at, and ſaid:

I winna gang wi’ thee.

If ewes ſhou’d ſtray he’ll hound his dog,

and fetch them frae the glen;

He’ll tent the weathers to the trowe,

and bring my lambkins ben;

He’ll buy me ribbon-knots ſa ,

and prin them to my breaſt;

He’ll kiſs ſae ſweet and ſighing vow,

I’m bonnier than the reft: Rh