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MY NANIE O.
BEHIND yon hill where Lugar flows,
mang moors and moſaes many, O.
The wintry ſun the day has clos'd,
and I'll awa to Name, O.
The weſtlin wind blaws loud and ſhill:
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O.
But I'll get my plaid and out I'll ſteal,
and owre the hill to Nanie, O.
My Nanie's charming ſweet and young;
nae artful wiles to win ye, O:
May ill befa' the flattering tongue,
that wad beguile my Nanie O.
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
as ſpotleſs as ſhe's bonny O.
