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

Dear Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,
Ye unco fair oppress us;
Our fancies jee between you twa,
Ye are sic bonny lasses:
Waes me! for baith I canna get,
To ane by law we're stinted;
Then I'll draw cuts, and tak my fate,
And be with ane contented.

 

Sleepin' Maggy.

Mirk an' rainy is the night,
No a starn in a' the carry.
Lightnings gleam a-thwart the lift,
An' win's drive wi' winter's fury.
O are ye sleepin', Maggy,
O' are ye sleepin', Maggy!
Let me in, for loud the linn
Is roaring o'er the warlock cragie.