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 Her breast to busk, I'd violets pu', That blaw aboon the boggie, And blue bells hingin' wat wi' dew, Frae yonder glen sae foggie. Could I believe she'd woo wi' me, An' tak me for her laddie, I'd aften slip out owre the lea, And row her in my plaidie.

I maun awa, I canna stay, Should a' gang tapsalteerie; Should boggles meet me in the way, This night I'll see my dearie. I'll ben the spence and dress a-wee, Wi' knots and bughts fu' gaudy, For I canna rest until I see Gin she'll come in my plaidie.



