Peck o' maut/This is no my Plaid

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THIS IS NO PLAD.

O this is no my plaid,
My plaid, my plaid,
O this is no my plaid,
Bonny though the colours be.

The ground o' mine was mix'd wi’ blue,
I gat it frae the lad I lo'e,
He ne'er has gi'en me cause to rue,
And O! the plaid is dear to me.

Farewell ye lowland plaids o' grey,
Nae kindly charm for me ye hae,
The tartan shall be mine for aye,
For O! the colour's dear to me.

For mine was silky, soft an warm,
It wrapp'd me round frae arm to arm
And like himself it bore a charm,
And O! the plaid is dear to me.

Although the lad the plaid who wore,
Is now upon a distant shore,
And cruel seas between us roar,
I'll mind the plaid that shelter'd me.

The lad that gied me't likes me well,
Although his name I darena tell,
He likes me just as weel's himsel',
And O! the plaid is dear to me.

O may the plaidie yet be worn,
By Caledonians yet unborn,
I’ll fa’ the wretch wha e'er shall scorn,
The plaidie that's sae dear to me.

Frae surly blasts it covers me,
He'll me himsel' protection gi'e,
I'll lo'e him till the day I die,
And O! his plaid is dear to me.

I hope he'll no forget me now,
Each aften pledged aith and vow,
I hope he'll yet return to woo
Me in the plaid sae dear to me.

I hope the time may come my lad,
When we will to the kirk and wed,
Weel happit in the tartan plaid
The plaidie that's sae dear to me.

O! this will then be my plaid,
My plaid, my plaid,
O! this will then be my plaid,
And while I live shall ever be.