Blithe an' Cheerie

On Ettrick clear there grows a brier,
An' mony a bonnie blooming shaw ;
But Peggie's grown the fairest flower
The braes o' Ettrick ever saw.

Her cheek is like the woodland rose ;
Her e'e the violet set wi' dew ;
The lily's fair without compare,
Yet in her bosom tines its hue.

Had I as muckle gowd an' gear
As I could lift unto my knee,
Nae ither lass but Peggie dear
Should ever be a bride to me.
O she's blithe, an' O she's cheerie,
O she's bonnie, frank, an' free !
The sternies bright, nae dewy night,
Could ever beam like Peggie's ee.

Had I her hame at my wee house,
That stands aneath yon mountain high,
To help me wi' the kye an ewes,
An' in my arms at e'ening lie ;
O sae blithe, an' O sae cheerie,
O sae happy we wad be !
The lammie to the ewe is dear,
But Peggie's dearer far to me.

But I may sigh and stand abeigh,
An' greet till I tine baith my een ;
Though Peggie's smile my heart beguiles,
She disna mind my love a preen.

O I'm sad, an' O I'm sorry !
Sad an' sorry may I be ;
I may be sick an' very sick,
But I'll be desperate sweer to dee.