I'll hie me to the shieling hill,|
And bide amang the braes, Callum,
Ere I gang to Crochan mill,
I'll live on hips and slaes, Callum.
Wealthy pride but ill can hide
Your runkl'd mizzly shins, Callum,
Lyart pow, as white's the tow,
And beard as rough's the whins, Callum.
2. Wily woman aft deceives!|
Sae ye'll think, I ween, Callum,
Trees may keep their wither'd leaves.
'Till ance they get the green, Callum.
Blithe young Donald's won my heart,
Has my willing vow, Callum,
Now, for a' your couthy art,
I winna marry you, Callum.
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