To the Tune of,
BUSK ye, busk ye, my bony bride;
Busk ye, busk ye, my bony marrow;
Busk ye, busk ye, my bony bride,
Busk and go to the braes of Yarrow;
There will we sport and gather dew,
Dancing while lavrock sing the morning;
There learn frae turtles to prove true;
O Bell ne’er vex me with thy scorning.
To westlin breezes Flora yields,
And when the beams are kindly warming,
Blythness appears o’er all the fields,
And nature looks mair fresh and charming.
Learn frae the burns that trace the mead,
Tho’ on their banks the roses blossom,
Yet hasty lie they flow to Tweed,
And pour their sweetness in his bosom.
Hast ye, hast ye, my bony Bell,
Hast to my arms, and there I’ll guard thee,
With free consent my fears repel,
I’ll with my love and care reward thee.
Thus sang I saftly to my fair,
Wha rais’d my hopes with kind relenting.
O queen of smiles, I ask nae mair,
Since now my bony Bell’s consenting.