Thro' thievish greed.
Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence [parlor]
Sin' Mailie's dead. [Since]

Or, if he wanders up the howe, [glen]
Her living image in her yowe [ewe-lamb]
Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, [knoll]
For bits o' bread,
An' down the briny pearls rowe [roll]
For Mailie dead.

She was nae get o' moorland tups, [issue]
Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips; [matted fleece]
For her forbears were brought in ships
Frae 'yont the Tweed;
A bonnier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips [fleece, shears]
Than Mailie's, dead.

Wae worth the man wha first did shape [Woe to]
That vile wanchancie thing--a rape! [dangerous]
It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, [growl]
Wi' chokin' dread;
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape
For Mailie dead.

O a' ye bards on bonnie Doon!
An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune! [bagpipes]
Come, join the melancholious croon
O' Robin's reed;
His heart will never get aboon! [rejoice]