Allan Ramsay (1686–1758)

NOW wat ye wha I met yestreen

Coming down the street, my jo?

My mistress, in her tartan screen,

Fu’ bonnie, braw, and sweet, my jo.

‘My dear,’ quoth I, ‘thanks to the night

That never wished a lover ill;

Since ye’re out o’ your mither’s sight,

Let’s tak’ a walk up to the hill.

‘O Katie, wiltu gang wi’ me,

And leave the dinsome town a while?

The blossom’s sprouting frae the tree,

And a’ the simmer’s gaen 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 guidman o’ day

Does bend his morning draught o’ dew,

We’ll gae to some burn side and play,

And gather flowers to busk your brow.

We’ll pu’ 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 tower,

A canny, saft, and flowery den,

Which circling birks ha’e formed a bower;

Whene’er the sun grows high and warm,

We’ll to the cauler shade remove;

There will I lock thee in my arm,

And love and kiss, and kiss and love.’