Pretty Peg

As I gaed up by yon gate-end, When day was waxin weary, Wha did I meet come down the street But pretty Peg, my dearie?

Her air so sweet, her shape complete, Wi' nae proportion wanting— The Queen of Love could never move Wi' motion mair enchanting!

With linked hands we took the sands Down by yon winding river; And O! that hour, and shady bow'r, Can I forget it? Never!