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Cauld’s the blast upon my cheek,
O rise, rise my bonny lady.
O are ye sleeping, &c.
She’s opt the door, she’s let me in,
He cuist aside his dreepin’ plaidie,
’Blaw your warst ye rain an’ win’,
Since Maggy, now I’m in beside ye.
Now since I’m in beside you,
Now since I’m beside you, Maggie,
What care I for howlet’s cry,
Far boor-tree bank or warlock craigie,
THE THORN.
From the white blossom’d sloe, my dear Chloe requested,
A sprig, her fair breast to adorn:
No by heavens! I exclaim’d, may perish,
If ever I plant in that bosom a thorn.
Then I shew’d her the ring, and implor’d her to marry
She blush’d like the dawning of morn;
