Now wat ye wha I met yestreen Coming down the street, my jo; My mistress in her tartan screen Fu' bonie, braw and sweet, my jo; My dear, quoth I, thanks to the night, That never wished a lover ill, Since ye're out of your mither's sight, Let's tak a wauk up to the hill. O Katy, wilt a' gang wi' me, And leave the dinsome town a while, The blossom's sprouting frae the tree, And a' the simmer's gawn to smile; The mavis, nightingale and lark The bleating lambs and whistling hind, In ilka dale, green, shaw, and park, Will nourish health, and glad ye'r mind. Soon as the clear goodman of day Bends his morning draught of dew We'll gae to some burn-side and play And gather flow'rs to busk ye'r brow: We'll pou the daisies on the green, The lucken gowans frae the bog: Between hands now and then we'll lean, And sport upon the velvet fog. There's up into a pleasant glen A wee piece frae my father's tow'r, A canny, saft, and flow'ry den, Where circling birks have form'd a bow'r; Whene'er the sun grows high and warm, We'll to that cauler shade remove, There I will lock thee in my arms, And love and kiss, and kiss and love.
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