To the Tune of, Tibby Fowler in the Glen.
TIBBY has a fore of charms,
Her genty shape our fancy warms;
How strangely can her sma’ white arms
Fetter the lad who looks but at her?
Frae ‘er ancle to her slender waste,
These sweets conceal’d invite to dawt her;
Her rosy cheek, and rising breast,
Gar ane’s mouth gush bowt fu’ o’ Water.
NEELY‘s gawsy, saft and gay,
Fresh as the lucken flowers in May;
Ilk ane that sees her, crys, ah hey
She’s bonny! O I wonder at her.
The dimples of her chin and cheek,
And limbs sae plump invite to dawt her;
Her lips sae sweet, and skin sae sleek,
Gar mony mouths beside mine water.
Now strike my finger in a bore,
My wyson with the maiden shore,
Gin I can tell whilk I am for,
When these twa stars appear thegither,
O love! why dost thou gi’e thy fires
Sae large, while we’re oblig’d to neither?
Our spacious sauls immense desires,
And ay be in a hankerin swither.
TIBBY’s shape and airs are fine,
And Nelly’s beauties are divine:
But since they canna baith be mine,
Ye Gods, give ear to my petition,
Provide a good lad for the tane,
But let it be with this provison,
I get the other to my lane,
In prospect plano and fruition.