and when the wele simmer shower

has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,

we'll to the breathing woodbine bower,

at sultry noon, my dearie, o.

lassie wi' the, c.

when cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,

the weary shearer's hameward way,

thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,

and talk o' love, my dearie, o.

lassie wi' the, c.

and when the howling wintry blast

disturbs my lassie's midnight rest,

enclasped to my faithfu' breast,

i'll fort thee, my dearie, o.

lassie wi' the, c.