Page:Twa weavers.pdf/8

8 She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wil'd,

She charm'd my soul, I wistna how;

And aye the stound, the deadly wound,

Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue.

But spare o' speak, and spare to speed,

She’ll alblins listen to my vow:

Should she refuse, I’ll lay my dead

To her twa een sae bonnie blue.



