It is na, Jean, thy bonieface,
Nor shape that I admire;
Altho’ thy beauty and thy grace
Might weelawaukdesire.
Something, in ilka part o’thee,
To praise, to love, I find,
But dear as is thy form to me,
Still dearer is thy mind.
Naemairungenerous wish I hae,
Nor stronger in my breast,
Than, if I cannamake thee sae,
At least to see thee blest.
Content am I, if heaven shall give
Buthappiness, to thee;
And as wi’thee I’d wish to live,
For thee I’d bearto die.