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.