Classic Poem

Fair bonny maid o' Sibbertoft
How can you cruel prove
When in your fathers bushy croft
We both confess'd our love
The hunters they are on the hill
The hounds all in full cry
Your slighting coolness turns me chill
I feel that I could die —

2

I would not do that bosom white
One single stain o' wrong
Thy scorning smile my love to slight
With[h] eld thyself so long —
Beside this white thorn grows the brere
And both are getting green
Just where we kisst each other here
By all beside unseen.

3

And is the sun to smile so warm
Oer thickets green and gay
Where thy sweet kisses lent a charm
To cheer me on my way
The spring is cold & comfortless
And cold your heart must be
I can put up with cares distress
But not rebuke from thee.