My heid is like to rend, Willie,
  My heart is like to break;
I ’m wearin’ aff my feet, Willie,
  I ’m dyin’ for your sake!
O, say ye ’ll think on me, Willie,
  Your hand on my briest-bane,—
O, say ye ’ll think of me, Willie,
  When I am deid and gane!

It ’s vain to comfort me, Willie,
  Sair grief maun ha’e its will;...