Lassie wi’ the lintwhite locks, bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi’ me tent the flocks, and wilt thou be my dearie, o.

Now nature cleeds the flowery lea and a’ is young and sweet like thee,
O wilt thou share its joys wi’ me and say thou’lt be my dearie, o.

The primrose bank, the wimpling burn, the cuckoo on the milkwhite thorn,
The wanton lambs at rosy morn shall glad thy heart, my dearie, o.

And when the welcome simmer shower has cheer’d ilk drooping little flower,
We’ll to the breathing woodbine-bower at sultry noon, my dearie, o.

As Cynthia lights wi’ silver ray the weary shearer’s hameward way,
Thro' yellow waving fields we’ll stray and talk o’ love, my dearie, o.

And should the howling wintry blast disturb my lassie’s midnight rest,
I’ll fauld thee to my faithfu’ breast and comfort thee, my dearie, o.