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O Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,
They were twa bonny lasses;
They bigg'd a house on yon burn brae,
And theek'd it o'er wi' rashes.
Fair Bessy Bell I lo'ed yestreen,
And thought I ne'er could alter;
But Mary Gray's twa pawky een,
They gar my fancy falter.

Now Bessy's hair's like a lint-tap;
She smiles like a May morning.
When Phoebus starts frae Thetis' lap,
The hills with rays adorning;
White is her neck, saft is her hand,
Her waist and feet's fu' genty;
With ilka grace she can command;
Her lips, O wow! they're dainty.

And Mary's locks are like a craw,
Her een like diamonds glauces;
She's ay sae clean, redd up, and braw,
She kills whene'er she dances;
Blythe as a kid, with wit at will,
She blooming, tight, and tall is,
And guides her airs sae gracefu' still,
O Jove, she's like thy Pallas.