Proud Maisrie

Proud Maisrie stands at her faither’s door, As straight’s a willow wand, And syne there cam’ a gairdner child Wi’ a red rose in his hand, his hand, Wi’ a red rose in his hand. “O ye shall hae my rose, fair maid, Gin ye’ll gie your flooer tae me, And amang the flooers o’ your faither’s yard I’ll mak’ a gown for thee. “The lily white shall be your smock, Becomes your body neist; And marigowds shall be your stays, Wi’ a red rose at yer breist. “Your gown shall be the smelling thyme And your petticoat camowine, And your apron o’ the soladene, Come, kiss sweetheart, and join. “Your gloves shall be the clover flooer That springs in yonder wan, And I’ll sew them wi’ the blue blevets That graws amang the lawn. “Your feet I’ll shod wi’ yon red rue That graws in the gairden fine; And I’ll line them wi’ the tapetan,