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8
It’s not the cauld that makes me cry,
But my love‘s heart grown caulà to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town,
We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad in velvet black,
And I myself in cramasie.
But had I wist before I kist,
That love had been sae ill to win,
I’d lock‘d my heart in a case of gold,
And pin‘d it with a silver pin,
Oh ! oh ! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse s knee;
And I mysel were dead and gane,
For maid again I ll never be.
FINIS.
