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 'Tis she does the virgins excel; No beauty with her rosy compare; Love's graces around her do dwell; She's fairest where thousands are fair: Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray? Oh! tell me at noon where they feed? Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay, Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?

There's fouth of braw Jockes and Jennies, Comes weel buskit into the fair, With ribbons on their cockernonies, And fouth of fine flour in their hair. O Maggie she was sae weel busked, That Willie was tied to his bride; The pony was ne'er better whisked With a cudgel that hung frae his side,

But Maggie was wondrous jealous, To see Willie busked sae braw; And Sawney he sat in the ale-house, And hard at the liqour did ca', There was Georgie that weel lo'ed his lassie, He took the pint stoup in his arms, And hugged it, and said, Troth they're saucy, That lo'es na a gude father's bairn.