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1686-1758
MY Peggy is a young thing,
Just enter’d in her teens,
Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
Fair as the day, and always gay;
My Peggy is a young thing,
And I’m not very auld,
Yet well I like to meet her at
The wawking of the fauld.
My Peggy speaks sae sweetly
Whene’er we meet alane,
I wish nae mair to lay my care,
I wish nae mair of a’ that’s rare;
My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
To a’ the lave2 I’m cauld,
But she gars a’ my spirits glow
At wawking of the fauld.
My Peggy smiles sae kindly
Whene’er I whisper love,
That I look down on a’ the town,
That I look down upon a crown;
My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
It makes me blyth and bauld,
And naething gi’es me sic delight
As wawking1 of the fauld.
My Peggy sings sae saftly
When on my pipe I play,
By a’ the rest it is confest,
By a’ the rest, that she sings best;
My Peggy sings sae saftly,
And in her sangs are tauld,
With innocence the wale3 of sense,
At wawking of the fauld.
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