Will ye go to the [yowe-buchts]1, Marion,
And weir in the sheep wi' me ?
The sun shines sweet, my Marion,
But nae hauf sae sweet as thee.

O, Marion's a bonnie lass,
And the blythe blink 's in her ee;
And fain wad I marry Marion,
Gin Marion wad marry me.

There's gowd in your garters, Marion,
And silk on your white hause-bane ;
Fou fain wad I kiss my Marion,
At een, when I come hame.

There's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,
Wha gape, and glower wi' their ee,
At kirk when they see my Marion;
But none o' them lo'es like me.

I've nine milk-yowes, my Marion,
A cow and a brawny quey;
I'll gie them a' to my Marion,
Just on her bridal-day. 

And ye'se get a green sey apron,
And waistcoat o' London broun ;
And wow but we'se be vap'rin' 
Whene'er ye gang to the toun.

I'm young and stout, my Marion;
Nane dances like me on the green: 
And, gin ye forsake me, Marion,
I'll e'en gae draw up wi' Jean.

Sae put on your pearlins, Marion,
And kirtle o' cramasie;
And, as sune as my chin has nae hair on,
I will come west, and see ye.