Muirland Meg

Amang our young lasses there's Muirland Meg,She'll beg or she work, and she'll play or she beg;At thretteen her maidenhead flew to the gate,An' the door o' her cage stands open yet.

And for a sheep-cloot she'll do't, she'll do't,And for a sheep-cloot she'll do't;And for a toop-horn she'll do't to the morn,And merrily turn and do't, and do't.

Her kittle black een they wad thirl ye thro',Her rosebud lips cry kiss me just now;The curls and links o' her bonny black hair,Wad put you in mind that the lassie has mair.

And for, etc.

An armfu' o' love is her bosom sae plump;A span o' delight is her middle sae jimp,A taper white leg, and a thumpin' thie.And a fiddle near by ye can play a wee.

And for, etc.

Love's her delight and kissing's her treasure.She'll stick at nae price an ye gie her good measure;As lang's a sheep-fit an' as girt's a goose egg,O, that's the measure o' Muirland Meg.

And for, etc.