BET OF BUCHLYVIE.
Twas on a bonny morn in May,
When fields and meadows round look’d gay,
I met a fair maid on the way,
A bit below Buchlyvie.
Her cheeks were like the new blown rose,
Her een were blacker than the sloes.
And auburn tresses grac’d the brows,
O bonny Bet Buchlyvie.
Quoth I my bonny lass ne’er fear,
But whar ye gaun, it I might spier,
Weel would I like to be your dear,
My bonny bet Buchlyvie.
(illegible text) dress you like a lady gay,
(illegible text) attire, at ball and play,
If ye’ll consent to come away,
Wi’ me and leave Buchlyvie.
I winna gang wi’ you she said,
I'm happier in my hame spun plaid,
Than though in silks i were arrayed
If absent frae Buchlyvie
I hae a lover o’ my ain,
And him though poor I’ll ne’er disdain,
’Tis lang since he the heart did gain
O’ his dear Bet Buchlyvie.
