Behind yonhills where Lugar flows,
‘Mang moors an’ mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has clos’d,
And I’ll awato Nanie, O.
The westlinwind blaws loud an’ shill;
The night’s baithmirkand rainy, O;
But I’ll getmy plaid an’ out I’ll steal,
An’ owrethe hill to Nanie, O.
My Nanie’s charming, sweet, an’ young;
Nae artfu’ wiles to winye, O:
May ill befa’ the flattering tongue
That wadbeguile my Nanie, O.
Her face is fair, her heart is true;
As spotless as she’s bonie, O:
The op’ning gowan, watwi’dew,
Nae purer is than Nanie, O.
A country lad is my degree,
An’ few there be that kenme, O;
But what care I how few they be,
I’m welcome aye to Nanie, O.
My riches a’s my penny-fee,
An’ I maunguide it cannie, O;
But warl’s gearne’er troubles me,
My thoughts are a’my Nanie, O.
Our auldguidman delights to view
His sheep an’ kyethrive bonie, O;
But I’m as blythe that hands his pleugh,
An’ has nae care but Nanie, O.
Come weel, come woe, I care naby;
I’ll takwhat Heav’n will sen’me, O:
Naeithercare in life have I,
Butlive, an’love my Nanie, O.