O’er the muir to Maggy.
[This is the name of an old Scottish air. The original words to the tune, however, are scarcely fit for quoting. The following is Ramsay's version of the song.]
And I'll owre the muir to Maggy,
Her wit and sweetness call me;
There to my fair I'll show my mind,
Whatever may befall me:
If she love mirth, I'll learn to sing
Or likes the Nine to follow,
I'll lay my lugs in Pindus' spring,
And invocate Apollo.
If she admire a martial mind,
I'll sheathe my limbs in armour;
If to the softer dance inclined,
With gayest airs I'll charm her;
If she love grandeur, day and night
I'll plot my nation's glory,
Find favour in my prince's sight,
And shine in future story.
Beauty can wonders work with ease,
Where wit is corresponding,
And bravest men know best to please,
With complaisance abounding.
My bonnie Maggy's love can turn
Me to what shape she pleases,
If in her breast that flame shall burn,
Which in my bosom bleezes.