And ay the mair she geeks at me,
It pits me aye in love the madder.
Love winna heal, it winna thole,
You canna shun't even when you fear it;
An' O, this sickness o' the soul,
'Tis past the power of man to bear it!
And yet to mak o' her a wife,
I couldna square it wi' my duty,
I'd like to see her a' her life
Remain a virgin in her beauty;