| There was a lass an she was fair at kirk an' market tae be seen
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| When aw oor fairest maids were met, the flower o' them, bonnie Jean
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| Aye, she wrought her country work an she sang sae joyfully
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| The bonniest bird upon the bush hae ne’er a lighter heart than she
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| But hawks will rob the tender joys that bless the lint white nest
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| Frost will blight the fairest flower, love will break the soundest rest
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| For she met a braw young lad, the pride o’aw his glen
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| And he had owsen, sheep and kye, an bonnie horses nine or ten
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| The lad took Jeanie tae the tryst, danced the lassie on the down
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| Lang ere witless, Jeannie wist her heart wis tint, her peace was stown
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| As in the bosom o' the stream the moon dwells at dewy een
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| So trembling pure was tender love within the breast o' bonnie Jean
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| Monies a bird sang sweet o’love, flowers bloom ower the dale
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| An close tae her he aft did lay and whispered this, his tender tale
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| O Jeannie fair, I love thee dear an will ye gang wi me
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| Aye, an leave your parent’s hame, and nothing else will trouble thee
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| So what could helpless Jeannie do?
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| She had nae will tae say him naw
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| At length she blushed a sweet consent
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| And love was aye between them twa |