Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed
The lift was lowerin dreary,
The sun he wadna raise his heid,
The win’ blew laich and eerie.
In’s pooch he had a plack or twa–
I vow he hadna mony,
Yet Andrew like a linty sang,
For Lizzie was sae bonny!
O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny lassie!
Bonny, saucy hizzy!
What richt had ye to luik at me
And drive me daft and dizzy?

Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam
The sun was shinin rarely;
He rade a horse that pranced and sprang–
I vow he sat him fairly!
And he had gowd to spen’ and spare,
And a hert as true as ony;
But his luik was doon, his sigh was sair,
For Lizzie was sae bonny!
O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny hizzy!
Aih, the sunlicht weary!
Ye’re straucht and rare–ye’re fause though fair!–
Hech, auld John Armstrong’s deary!

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