The Book of Scottish Song/This is no my plaid

This is no my plaid.

[W. Halley.]

⁠O this is no my plaid,
⁠My plaid, my plaid;
⁠O this is no my plaid,
⁠Bonnie though the colours be.

The ground o' mine was mix'd wi' blue,
I gat it friie the lad I lo'e,
He ne'er has gi'en me cause to rue,
⁠An' O the plaid is dear to me.
⁠O this is no my plaid, &c.

For mine was silky, saft, an' warm,
It wrapp'd me round frae arm to arm,
An' like himsel', it bore a charm,
⁠An' O the plaid is dear to me.
⁠O this is no my plaid, &c.

The lad that gied me't likes me weel,
Although his name I darena tell,
He likes me just as weel's himsel',
⁠An' O the plaid is dear to me.
⁠O this is no my plaid, &c.

Frae surly blasts it covers me,
He'll me himsel' protection gi'e,
I'll lo'e him till the day I die,
⁠His plaid shall aye be dear to me.
⁠O this is no my plaid, &c.

The time may come, my ain dear lad,
When we will to the kirk and wed,
Weel happit in thy tartan plaid,
⁠That plaid shall aye be dear to me.
⁠O this will then be my plaid,
⁠My plaid, my plaid,
⁠O this will then be my plaid,
⁠An' while I live shall ever be.

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