Out spake her father, that saucy old man,
You might have chosen a mistress among your own clan;
It’s hut poor entertainment to our Lowland dames,
To promise them heather and blue heather bloom.
Kilt up your green plaidie, walk over yon hill,
For a sight of your Highland face does me much ⟨ill⟩;
For I will wed my daughter, and spare pennies too,
To whom my heart pleases, and what’s that to you?
My plaid it is broad, it has colours anew,
Goodman, for your kindness, I’ll leave it with you;
I have got a warm cordial keeps the cold from me—
The blythe blinks of love from your daughter’s e’e.
My flocks they are thin, and my lodgings but bare,
And you that has meikle the more you can spare;
Some of your spare pennies with me you will share,
And you winna send your lassie o’er the hills bare.
He went to her daughter to give her advice,
Said, if you go with him I’m sure you’re not wise,
He’s a rude Highland fellow, as poor as a crow,
He’s of the clan Caithness for ought that I know.
But if you go with him, I’m sure you’ll go bare.
You’ll have nothing father or mother can spare;
Of all I possess I’ll deprive you for aye,
If o’er the hills lassie you go away.
It’s father keep what you are not willing to give,
For I fain would go with him as sure as I live;
What signifies gold or treasure to me,
If the Highlands are between my love and me.
