The Book of Scottish Song/Saw ye nae my Peggy

Saw ye nae my Peggy.

[This song, though old, was not inserted in any regular collection of Scottish songs till that of David Herd in 1769. "There is another set of the words," says Burns, "much older still, and which I take to be the original one, as follows—a song familiar from the cradle to every Scottish ear:

Saw ye my Maggie,
Saw ye my Maggie,
Saw ye my Maggie,
Linkin ower the lea?

High-kiltit was she,
High-kiltit was she,
High-kiltit was she,
Her coat aboon her knee.

What mark has your Maggie,
What mark has your Maggie,
What mark has your Maggie,
That ane may ken her be? (by).

Though it by no means follows that the silliest verses to an air must, for that reason, be the original song, yet I take this ballad, of which I have quoted part, to be the old verses. The two songs in Ramsay, one of them evidently his own, are never to be met with in the fire-side circle of our peasantry; while that which I take to be the old song is in every shepherd's mouth."]

Saw ye nae my Peggy,
Saw ye nae my Peggy,
Saw ye nae my Peggy,
Coming ower the lea?
Sure a finer creature
Ne'er was formed by Nature,
So complete each feature,
So divine is she!

O! how Peggy charms me:
Every look still warms me;
Every thought alarms me;
Lest she lo'e nae me.
Peggy doth discover
Nought but charms all over:
Nature bids me love her;
That's a law to me.

Who would leave a lover,
To become a rover?
No, I'll ne'er give over,
Till I happy be.
For since love inspires me,
As her beauty fires me,
And her absence tires me,
Nought can please but she.

When I hope to gain her,
Fate seems to detain her;
Could I but obtain her,
Happy would I be!
I'll lie down before her,
Bless, sigh, and adore her,
With faint looks implore her,
Till she pity me.

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