The lass of Patie's mill,
So bonny, blythe and gay,
in spite of all my skill,
Has stole my heart away.
When tedding' of the hay
Bare-headed on the green,
Love 'midst her locks did play,
And wanton'd in her een.

Without the help of art,
Like flow'rs that grace the wild,
She did her sweets impart,
Whene'er she spoke or smil'd.
Her looks they were so mild,
Free from affected pride,
She me to love beguil'd;
I wish'd her for my bride.

O had I all the wealth
Hopeton's high mountains fill,
Insur'd long life and health,
And pleasure at my will;
I'd promise and fulfil,
That none but bonny she,
The lass of Patie's mill,
Should share the same wi' me.