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.