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by Robert Burns
Sung by Kenneth McKellar
O Mary, at thy window be !
It is the wish'd, the trysted oor.
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That mak the miser's treasure poor,
Sae blithely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun tae sun,
Could I the rich reward secure -
The lovely Mary Morison.
Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro, the lichted ha',
Tae thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast o' a' the toon,
I sigh'd and said amang them a' -
'They are na Mary Morison!'
O Mary canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee?
Or canst thou break that hert o' 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.
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