As walking forth to view the plain,
⁠Upon a morning early,
While May’s sweet scent did cheer my brain,
⁠From flowers which grew so rarely:
I chanced to meet a pretty maid,
⁠she shined tho' it was foggie;
I asked her name. Sweet Sir, she said,
⁠My name is Catharine Ogie.

I stood awhile, and did admire
⁠To see a nymph so stately;
So brisk an air there did appear
⁠In a country maid so neatly.
Such natural sweetness she display’d,
⁠Like lilies in a bogie,
Diana’s self was ne'er array’d,
⁠Like this same Catharine Ogie.

Thou flow'r of females, beauty’s queen,
⁠Who sees thee sure must prize thee;
Tho’ thou art drest in robes but mean,
⁠Yet these cannot disguise thee;
Thy handsome air and graceful look
⁠Excel each clownish rogie,
Thou’rt match for laird, or lord, or duke,
⁠My charming Catharine Ogie.

​O were I but some shepherd swain,
⁠To feed my flocks beside thee.
At bughting time to leave the plain,
⁠In milking to abide thee:
I'd think myself a happier man,
⁠Wi’ Kate, my club, and dogie,
Than he that hugs his thousand ten,
⁠Had I but Catharine Ogie.

Then I’d despise th’ imperial throne,
⁠And statesmen’s dangerour stations ;
I’d be no king, I’d wear no crown,
⁠I’d smile at conquering nations,
Might I caress and still possess
⁠This lass of whom I’m vogie,
For they are toys, and still look less,
⁠Compared with Catharine Ogie.

I fear the gods have not decreed
⁠For me so fair a creature,
Whose beauty rare make her exceed,
⁠All other works in nature;
Clouds of despair surround my love,
⁠That are both dark and foggy ;
Pity my case, ye Pow’rs above!
⁠Else I die for Catharine Ogie.