Lasses a-lilting afore the break of day;
But now there’s a moaning,
On ilka green loaning,
Since our bra foresters are a’ wed away.
At boughts i’ the morning,
Nae blyth lads are scorning;
The lasses are lonely, dowie, and wae;
Nae daffin, nae gabbin,
But sighing and sabbing,
Ilk ane lifts her leglen, and hies her away.