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!