The wine flows you among,
Till I gang to my shot-window,
And hear yon bonny bird's song.
"Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,
The song ye sang [yestreen];
For I ken, by your sweet singing,
Ye're frae my true love sen."
(birk, birch. shot-windoiv, projecting window. sen, sent.)
O first he sang a merry song,
And then he sang a grave;