Marion

Will ye gae to the ewe-buchts, Marion,

⁠And wear in the sheep wi' me?

The sun shines sweet, my Marion,

⁠But nae half sae sweet as thee.

O, Marion's a bonnie lass,

⁠And the blythe blink 's in her e'e;

And fain wad I marry Marion,

⁠Gin Marion wad marry me.

There's gowd in your garters, Marion,

⁠And silk on your white hause-bane;

For fain wad I kiss my Marion,

⁠At e'en, when I come hame.

There's braw lads in Farnslaw, Marion,

⁠Wha gape, and glower wi' their e'e,

At kirk when they see my Marion,

⁠But nane o' them lo'es like me.

I've nine milk-ewes, my Marion,

⁠A cow and a brawny quey;

I'll gi'e them a' to my Marion,

⁠Just on her bridal-day.

And ye'se get a green sey apron,

⁠And waistcoat o' London broun;

And wow but ye'se be vap'rin'

⁠Whene'er ye gang to the toun.

I'm young and stout, my Marion,

⁠Nane dances like me on the green:

And, gin ye forsake me, Marion,

⁠I'll e'en gae draw up wi' Jean.

Sae put on your pearlins, Marion,

⁠And kirtle o' cramasie;

And, as sune as my chin has nae hair on,

⁠I will come west, and see ye.