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.