pretty peg

  as i gaed up by yon gate-end,

  when day was waxin' weary,

  wha did i meete down the street,

  but pretty peg, my dearie!

  her air sae sweet, an' shapeplete,

  wi' nae proportion wanting,

  the queen of love did never move

  wi' motion mair enchanting.

  wi' linked hands we took the sands,

  adown yon winding river;

  oh, that sweet hour and shady bower,

  forget it shall i never!