The silver moons enamour'd beam
Steals softly through the night,
To wanton in the winding stream
And kiss reflected light.
To court begone, heart-soothing sleep,
Where you've so seldom been,
Whilst I lay wakeful vigil keep
With Kate of Aberdeen,
With Kate of Aberdeen,
With Kate of Aberdeen.

The nymphs and swains expectant wait
In primrose chaplets gay,
Till morn unbars her golden gate,
And gives the promis'd May.
The nymphs & swains shall all declare,
The promis'd May when seen,
Not half so fragrant, half so fair,
As Kate of Aberdeen.

I'll tune my pipe to playful notes,
And rouse yon nodding grove,
Till new-wak'd birds distend their throats,
And hail the maid I love.
At her approach the lark mistakes
And quits the new dress'd greet:
Fond birds, 'tis not the morning breaks,
Tis Kate of Aberdeen!

Now blithesome o'er the dewey mead,
Where elves disportive play,
The festals dance, young shepherds lead,
Or sing their love-tun'd lay;
And claims a virgin queen;
The nymphs & swains exulting cry,
Here's Kate of Aberdeen!