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Mary Morison 
Mary Morison (Robert Burns) 
O Mary, at thy window be! It is the wish'd the trysted hour. Those smiles and glances let me see, That makes the miser's treasure poor. How blythely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secureThe lovely Mary Morison! 
Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw: Tho this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a'the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a''Ye are na Mary Morison!' 
0, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? Or canst thou break that heart of 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. 
Tune: Duncan Davison (30) ARB