The 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!