Near the old town of Millick one morning in June
The birds singing gaily and the meadows in bloom,
I espied a wee lassie at the foot of the lane,
She was bleeching her linens by the Braes of Strablane.

I stepped close up to her and made my address,
"Are you bleaching your linens my charming wee lass?
This 12 months and better I had it in mind
That we would get married if you were inclined."

To marry, to marry, kind sir I'm too young,
And all gay young men have a flattering tongue,
My mammie and daddie would be angry too
If I were to marry a rover like you.

But soon she consented and did not say no,
And that to wander she would go;
But I said, "It's to late love, the clouds look like rain."
And I'll court another by the Braes of Strablane.

Come all ye wee lassies, take a warning from me,
Don't slight your wee laddie for his poverty,
My wee lassie slighted me, and now she has nane,
And she wanders forlorn on the Braes of of Strablane.