Tune—"Rothiemurchie's Rant."
Chorus.—La**ie wi'the lint-white locks,
Bonie la**ie, artless la**ie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks,
Wilt thou be my Dearie, O?
Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee,
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me,
And say thou'lt be my Dearie, O.
La**ie wi' the, &c.
The primrose bank, the wimpling burn,
The cuckoo on the milk-white thorn,
The wanton lambs at early morn,
Shall welcome thee, my Dearie, O.
La**ie wi' the, &c.
And when the welcome simmer shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower,
At sultry noon, my Dearie, O.
La**ie wi' the, &c.
When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way,
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o' love, my Dearie, O.
La**ie wi' the, &c.
And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my La**ie's midnight rest,
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast,
I'll comfort thee, my Dearie, O.
La**ie wi' the, &c.