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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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