AMANG our young lassies there ‘s Muirland Meg,
She ‘ll beg or she work, and she ‘ll play or she beg,
At thretteen her maidenhead flew to the gate,
And the door o’ her cage stands open yet.---

Her kittle balck een they wad thirl you thro’,
Her rose-bud lips cry, kiss me now;
The curls and links o’ her bonie black hair,
Wad put you in mind that the lassie has mair.--------

An armfu’ o’ love is her bosom sae plump,
A span o’ delight is her middle sae jimp;
A taper, white leg, and a thumpin thie,
And a fiddle near by, an ye play a wee!

Love ‘s her delight, and kissin ‘s her treasure;
She ‘ll stick at nae price, an ye gie her gude measure.
As lang ‘s a sheep-fit, and as girt ‘s a goose-egg,
And that ‘s the measure o’ Muirland Meg.