Altho' I be but a country lass, 
Yet a lofty mind I bear, O,
And think myself as good as those 
That rich apparel wear, O.
Altho' my gown be hame-spun gray, 
My skin it is as soft, O,
As them that satin weeds do wear, 
And carry their heads aloft, O.

What tho' I keep my father's sheep? 
The thing that must be done, O,
With garlands of the finest flowers 
To shade me frae the sun, O.
When they are feeding pleasantly, 
Where grass and flowers do spring, O,
Then on a flow'ry bank at noon, 
I set me down, and sing, O.

My Paisley Piggy cork'd, with sage, 
Contains my drink, but thin, 
O, No wines do e'er my brain enrage,
Or tempt my mind to sin, O. 
My country curds and wooden spoon,
I think them unco fine, O, 
And on a flow'ry bank at noon,
I set me down, and dine, O.