My Peggy speaks sae sweetly Whene'er we meet alane, I wish nae mair to lay my care, I wish nae mair of a' that's rare: My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, To a' the lave I'm cauld, But she gars a' my spirits glow At wauking of the fauld. My Peggy smiles sae kindly Whene'er I whisper love, That I look down on a' the town, That I look down upon a crown; My Peggy smiles sae kindly, It makes me blythe and bauld, And naething gi'es me sic delight At wauking of the fauld. My Peggy sings sae saftly When on my pipe I play, By a' the rest it is confest, By a' the rest, that she sings best; My Peggy sings sae saftly, And in her sangs are tauld With innocence the wale of sense, At wauking of the fauld. This sunny morning, Roger, chears my blood, And puts all Nature in a jovial mood. How hartsome is't to see the rising plants, To hear the birds chirm o'er their pleasing rants! How halesom 'tis to snuff the cauler air, And all the sweets it bears, when void of care! What ails thee, Roger, then? what gars thee grane? Tell me the cause of thy ill-seasoned pain. _Roger._ I'm born, O Patie, to a thrawart fate; I'm born to strive with hardships sad and great! Tempests may cease to jaw the rowan flood, Corbies and tods to grein for lambkins' blood; But I, oppressed with never-ending grief, Maun ay despair of lighting on relief. * * * * * You have sae saft a voice and slid a tongue, You are the darling of baith auld and young: If I but ettle at a sang or speak, They dit their lugs, syne up their leglens cleek, And jeer me hameward frae the loan or bught, While I'm confused with mony a vexing thought; Yet I am tall, and as well built as thee, Nor mair unlikely to a lass's eye; For ilka sheep ye have I'll number ten, And should, as ane may think, come farer ben. * * * * * _Patie._ Daft gowk! leave aff that silly whinging way! Seem careless: there's my hand ye'll win the day. Hear how I served my lass I love as weel As ye do Jenny and with heart as leel. Last morning I was gay and early out; Upon a dyke I leaned, glowring about. I saw my Meg come linkan o'er the lea; I saw my Meg, but Peggy saw na me, For yet the sun was wading thro' the mist, And she was close upon me e'er she wist: Her coats were kiltit, and did sweetly shaw Her straight bare legs, that whiter were than snaw. Her cockernony snooded up fou sleek, Her haffet-locks hang waving on her cheek; Her cheeks sae ruddy, and her een sae clear; And, oh, her mouth's like ony hinny pear; Neat, neat she was in bustine waistcoat clean, As she came skiffing o'er the dewy green. Blythesome I cried, 'My bonnie Meg, come here! I ferly wherefore ye're sae soon asteer,