The Bush aboon Traquair

Hear me ye nymphs and every swain, I'll tell how Peggy grieves me, Though this I lanquish, this complain, alas she ne’er believes me My vows and sighs like silent air, unheaded never move her, At the bonny bush aboon Traquair, 'twas there I first did love her.

That day she smil'd and made me glad; no maid seem'd ever kinder, I thought myself the luckiest lad, so sweetly there to find her: I try’d to soothe my am'rous flame, in words that I thought tender, I more than pass'd I'm not to blame: I mean not to offend her.

Yet now she scornful flees the plain, the fields we then frequented. Where’ere she meets she shows disdain, she looks as ne'er aquainted. The bonny bush bloom'd fair in May, its sweets I’ll ay remember, But now her sweets it decay, it fades as in December.