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,Bonie 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 maun see't—Whistle owre the lave o't.