| One morning in springtime as day was a-dawning
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| Bright Phoebus had risen from over the lea
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| I spied a fair maiden as homeward she wandered
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| From herding her flocks on the hills of Glenshee
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| I stood in amazement, says I, «Pretty fair maid
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| If you will come down to St. John’s Town with me
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| There’s ne’er been a lady set foot in my castle
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| There’s ne’er been a lady dressed grander than thee»
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| A coach and six horses to go at your bidding
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| And all men that speak shall say «ma'am unto thee
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| Fine servants to serve you and go at your bidding
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| I’ll make you my bride, my sweet lass of Glenshee
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| «Oh what do I care for your castles and coaches?
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| And what do I care for your gay grandeury?
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| I’d rather be home at my cot, at my spinning
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| Or herding my flocks on the hills of Glenshee»
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| «Away with such nonsense and get up beside me
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| E’er summer comes on my sweet bride you will be
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| And then in my arms I will gently caress thee»
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| 'Twas then she consented, I took her with me
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| Seven years have rolled on since we were united
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| There’s many’s a change, but there’s no change on me
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| And my love, she’s as fair as that morn on the mountain
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| When I plucked me a wild rose on the hills of Glenshee |