276. Song—Whistle o'er the lave o't
FIRST when Maggie was my care,
Heav’n, I thought, was in her air,
Now we’re married-speir nae mair,
But whistle o’er the lave o’t!
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Sweet and harmless as a child—
Wiser men than me’s beguil’d;
Whistle o’er 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 o’er the lave o’t!
Wha I wish were maggot’s meat,
Dish’d up in her winding-sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see’t—
Whistle o’er the lave o’t!
Poem by
Robert Burns
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