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.
Hearken and I will tell you how
Young Muirland Willie came to woo,
Tho' he cou'd neither say nor do;
The truth I tell to you.
But aye, he cries, Whate'er betide,
Maggy I'se ha'e to be my bride,
With a fal, dal, &c.
On his gray yade, as he did ride,
Wi' durk and pistol by his side,
He prick'd her on wi' meikle pride,
Wi' meikle mirth and glee,
Out o'er yon moss, out o'er yon muir,
Till he came to her daddy's door,
With a fal, dal, &c.
Gudeman, quoth he, be ye within?
I'm come your dochter's love to win,
I carena for making meikle din;
What answer gi'e ye me?
Now, wooer, quoth he, wou'd ye light down,
I'll gi'e ye my dochter's love to win,
With a fal, dal, &c.
Now, wooer, sin' ye are lighted down,
Where do ye won, or in what town?
I think my dochter wiana gloom,
On sic a lad as ye.
The wooer he stepp'd up the house,
And wow but he was wond'rous crouse,
With a fal, dal, &c.
I have three oxen in a pleugh,
Twa good gaun yades, and gear enough,
The place the ca' it Cadeneugh;
I scorn to tell a lie:
Besides, I ha'e frae the great laird,
A peat-pat, and a lang kail-yard
With a fal, dal, &c.
The maid put on her kirtle brown,
She was the brawest in a' the town
I wat on him she didna gloom,
But blinkit bonnilie.
The lover he stended up in haste,
And gript her hard about the waist,
With a fal, dal, &c.
To win your love, maid, I'm come here,
I'm young, and ha'e enough o' gear,
And for mysel' ye needna fear,
Trowth try me whan ye like,
He took aff his bonnet, and spat in his chow,
He dightit his gab, and he prie'd her mou',
With a fal, dal, &c.
The maiden blush'd and bing'd fu' law,
She hadna will to say him na,
But to her daddy she left it a',
As they twa cou'd agree.
The lover he gied her the tither kiss,
Syne ran to her daddy, and tell'd him this,
With a fal, dal, &c.
Your dochter wadna say me na,
But to yoursel' she's left it a',
As we cou'd agree between us twa,
Say, what ye'll gi'e me wi' her?
Now, wooer, quo' he, I ha'e na meikle,
But sic's I ha'e ye's get a pickle,
With a fal, dal, &c.
A kilnfu' of corn I'll gi'e to thee,
Three soums o sheep, twa good milk kye,
Ye's ha'e the wadding-dinner free;
Trowth I dow do nae mair.
Content, quo' he, a bargain be't,
I'm far frae hame, make haste, let's do't,
With a fal, dal, &c.
The bridal day it came to pass,
Wi' mony a blythsome lad and lass;
But sicken a day there never was,
Sic mirth was never seen.
This winsome couple straked hands,
Mess John ty'd up the marriage bands,
With a fal, dal, &c.
And our bride's maidens were na few,
Wi' tap-notes, lug-knots, a' in blue,
Frae tap to tae they were bra' new,
And blinkit bonnilie.
Their toys and mutches were sa clean,
They glanced in our ladses' een,
With a fal, dal, &c.
Sic hirdum, dirdum, and sic din,
Wi' he o'er her, and she o'er him;
The ministrels they did never blin',
Wi' meikle mirth and glee.
And aye they bobit, and aye they beckt,
And aye their loofs thegither met,
With a fal, dal, &c.