Mary Morison
(Robert Burns)

O Mary, at thy window be!
It is the wish'd the trysted hour.
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That makes the miser's treasure poor.
How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure-
The lovely Mary Morison!

Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard or saw:
Tho this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a'the town,
I sigh'd, and said amang them a'-
'Ye are na Mary Morison!'

0, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ?
Or canst thou break that heart of his
Whase only faut is loving thee ?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown:
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o Mary Morison.

Tune: Duncan Davison (30)
ARB