6
It is muck me mae male wi' your carriage to ride in,
Nor think that your grandeur I value a flee,
I would think myseif happy wi; a coatie of plaiden,
Wi' an innocent herd on the hills of Glenshee.
Believe me, dear lassie; Caledoida's clear waters
May alter their course and run back from the sea,
Her brave hardy sons submit to be in fetters,
But cease and believe not such baseness in me.
The lark may forget to rise in the morning,
The spring may forget to revive on the lea,
But never will I while my senses govern me,
Forget to be kind to the Lass o' Glenshee.
O let me alone for I'm sure I would blunder,
And sit all the gentry a-laughing at me,
They are book-taught in manners, baith auld young,
But we ken but little of that in Glenshee.
They wou'd say look ye at him wi' his, highland lady;
Set up for a sale in a window so high,
Rolled up like a witch in a handy spun plaidie,
And pointing towards the Lass of Glenshsee.
