The miller's daughter

I ha'e been courting at a lass,

These twenty days and mair;

Her father winna gi'e me her,

She's sic a gleib of gear;

But gin I had her where I wou'd,

Amang the hether here,

I'd strive to win her kindness

For a' the miller's care.

For she's a bonny, sonsy lass,

An armsfu', I swear;

I wou'd marry her without a coat,

Or e'er a plack o' gear;

For, trust me, when I saw her first,

She ga'e me sic a wound,

That a' the doctors i' the earth

Can never mak me sound.

For when she's absent frae my sight,

I think upon her still,

And when I sleep, or when I wake,

She does my senses fill;

May heaven guard the bonny lass,

That sweetens a' my life,

And shame fa' me gin e'er I seek

Anither for my wife.