Whistle Owre The Lave O’T

First when Maggy was my care, Heaven, I thought, was in her air; Now we’re married—spier nae mair— Whistle owre the lave o’t.

Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, Bonnie Meg was nature’s child— Wiser men than me’s beguil’d; Whistle owre the lave o’t.

How we live, my Meg and me, How we love and how we ’gree, I care na by how few may see— Whistle owre the lave o’t.

Wha I wish were maggots’ meat, Dish’d up in her winding sheet, I could write—but Meg may see’t; Whistle owre the lave o’t.