’Tis not the frost that freezes fell, 25
Nor blawing snaw’s inclemency;
’Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my Love’s heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town,
We were a comely sight to see; 30
My Love was clad in the black velvet,
And I mysel’ in cramasie.
But had I wist, before I kissed,