They are twa bonny lasses,
They bigg’d a bower on yon burn-brae,
And theek’d it o’er wi’ rashes.
Fair Bessy Bell I loo’d yestreen,
And thought I ne’er cou’d alter;
But Mary Gray’s twa pawky een,
They gar my fancy falter.
Now Bessy’s hair like a Lint-tap;
She smiles like a May Morning,
When Phœbus starts frae Thetis’ lap,
The hills with rays adorning:
White is her neck, saft is her hand,
Her waste 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 eyes like diamonds glances;
She’s ay sae clean, redd up and braw,
She kills whene’er she dances:
Blyth as a kid, with wit at will,
She blooming tite 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 fair oppress us;
Our fancies jee between you twa
Ye are sic bonny lasses:
Wae’ me! for baith I canna get,
To ane by law we’re stented;
Then I’ll draw cuts, and take my fate,
And be with ane contented.