Ot

  whistle o'er the lave o't
  first when maggie was my care,
  heav'n, i thought, was in her air,
  now we're married—speir nae mair,
  but whistle o'er the lave o't!
  meg was meek, and meg was mild,
  sweet and harmless as a child—
  wiser men than me's beguil'd;
  whistle o'er the lave o't!
  how we live, my meg and me,
  how we love, and how we gree,
  i care na by how few may see—
  whistle o'er the lave o't!
  wha i wish were maggot's meat,
  dish'd up in her winding-sheet,
  i could write—but meg maun see't—
  whistle o'er the lave o't!