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White is her neck, saft is her hand,
Her waist and feet’s fu genty;
With ilka grace she can command
Her lips, O vow! their dainty.
And Mary’s locks are like a craw,
Her een like diamonds glances;
She's ay sae clean, redd up, and brav,
She kills whene’er she dances:
Blyth as a kid, with wit at will,
She blooming, fight, and tall is;
And guides her airs sae gracefu’ still—
O Jove, she’s like thy Pallas!
Dear Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,
Ye unco sair oppress us;
Our fancies jee between you tway,
Ye are sic bonny lasses:
Waes me! for baith I canna get,
To ane by law we’re stented;
Then I’ll draw cuts and tak my fate,
And be with ane contented.
F I N I S.
