This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
O love! thou delights in man's ruin,
Thy conquests they cost us full dear;
Maun I forfeit my life for the viewing
The charms o' that lovely Miss Weir?
Tho' sometimes thou bid me aspire,
Again thou distracts me wi' fear
And envy o' ane that is higher—
Wha's even'd to the charming Miss Weir.
As down in yon valley a-walking,
Whare nae christen'd creature was near,
The birds all around me were talking
O' naething but charming Miss Weir:
That sweet little bird, called the linnet,
In accents delightfully dear,
Declared to the world that in it
Was nought like the lovely Miss Weir.
Oh Cupid! my head it is muddy,
I wish it may ever be clear;
For aye, wh^ I sit down to study,
My mind runs on charming Miss Weir.
I'm toss'd like a ship on the ocean,
That kens na what course for to steer;
Yet at times I'm so vain in my motion.
As hope for the lovely Miss Weir.