The Song Book No. 4/My Nanne, O

by Anonymous

For other versions of this work, see My Nanne, O.

My Nanne, O.

Behind yon hill where Lugar flows,
'mang moors an' mosses many O,
The wintry sun the day has closed,
and I'll awa to Nannie, O.

The westlin wind blaws loud and shrill;
the night's baith mirk and rainy, O:
But I'll get my plaid and out I'll steal,
an' o'er the hills to Nannie, O.

My Nannie's charming, sweet and young:
nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O:
May ill befa' the flatt'ring tongue
that wad beguile my Nannie. O

Her face is fair, her heart is true,
as spotless as she's bonnie, O;
The op'ning gowan, wet wi' dew,
nae purer is than Nannie, O.

A country lad is my degree,
an' few there be that ken, me. O
But what care I how few there be,
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O

My riches a's my penny-fee,
an I maun guide it cannie, O;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
my thoughts are a', my Nannie, O.

Our auld Guidman delights to view
his sheep and kye thrive bonnie, O;
But I'm as blithe that hands his pleugh,
an' hae nae care but Nannie, O.

Come weel, come woe, I care nae by.
I'll tak' what Heav'n will sen' me O;
Nae ither care in life have I
but live, an' love my Nannie, O