O, gin my love were a pickle o' wheat,
Growing oot o'er yon lily-white lea
And I mysel' was a wee, wee bird,
Awa' wi'that pickle I would flee.

O, gin my love were a red, red rose,
Growing upon yon gairden wa',
And I mysel' was a drap o' dew,
Intae that red rose I would fa'.

O, gin my love were a coffer o' gowd,
And I the keeper o' the key,
I would ope that kist, when e're I wished,
And intae that coffer I would be.

Song Notes: These three exquisite verses come from the manuscript of David Herd. Seperately they float through much of the Scots song tradition.

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