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 276. Song—Whistle o’er the lave o’t by Robert Burns
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! |
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