the bonie moor-hen
    the heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn,
    our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn,
    o'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen,
    at length they discover'd a bonie moor-hen.
    chorus.—i rede you, beware at the hunting, young men,
    i rede you, beware at the hunting, young men;
    take some on the wing, and some as they spring,
    but cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen.
    sweet—brushing the dew from the brown heather bells
    her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells;
    her plumage outlustr'd the pride o' the spring
    and o! as she wanton'd sae gay on the wing.
    i rede you, c.
    auld phoebus himself, as he peep'd o'er the hill,
    in spite at her plumage he tried his skill;
    he levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae—
    his rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she lay.
    i rede you,c.
    they hunted the valley, they hunted the hill,
    the best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill;
    but still as the fairest she sat in their sight,
    then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight.
    i rede you, c.