Page:Scots medley (1).pdf/8

 I gat my death frae twa black’ een, Twa lovely oʻ bonny blue, ’Twas not her golden ringlets bright, Her lips like roses wat wi dew, Her heaving bosom lilly white, It was her een sae bonny blue.

He talked she smiled my heart she wyl’d, She charm’d my heart, I wat na how; And ay the stound the deadly wound, Cam frae her een sae bonny blue. But spare I’d speak, and spare I’d speed, She’d ablins listen to my vow, Shou’d she refuse, I’d lay my dead, To her twa een sae bonny blue.