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.