(3)
Fair Bessy Bell I loo’d yestreen,
and thought I ne’er could alter,
But Mary Gray's twa pauky een,
they gar my fancy faulter.
Now Bessy’s hair’s like a lint-tap,
she smiles like a May-morning,
When Phoebus starts from Thetis' lap,
the hills with rays adorning.
White is her neck, fast 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 they’re like a craw,
her eyes like diamonds glances,
She’s ay so clean redd up, and bra’,
she kills when e'er she dances.
Blyth as a kid, with wit at will,
she blooming, tight, and tall is;
And guide her airs sae gracefu’ still,
O Jove, she’s like thy Pallas.
Dear Bessy Bell, and Mary Gray,
ye unco fair opress us;
Our fancies jee between you twa,
ye are sic bonny lasses.
