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.