A Robert Burns Poem

FIRST when Maggie was my care,
Heav’n, I thought, was in her air,
Now we’re married-speir nae mair,
But whistle o’er the lave o’t!

Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Sweet and harmless as a child -
Wiser men than me’s beguil’d;
Whistle o’er the lave o’t!

How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love, and how we gree,
I care na by how few may see -
Whistle o’er the lave o’t!

Wha I wish were maggot’s meat,
Dish’d up in her winding-sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see’t -
Whistle o’er the lave o’t!