Jestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed through the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing—
I sat, but neither heard nor saw;
Though this was fair, and that was braw,
And you the toast of a' the town,
I sighed and said amang them a'
"Ye are na Mary Morison."
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die;