If ye gae up to yon hill-tap,
Ye’ll there see bonie Peggy;
She kens her father is a laird,
And she forsooth’s a leddy.
There Sophy tight, a lassie bright,
Besides a handsome fortune:
Whacannawinher in a night,
Has little art in courtin’.
Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale,
And taka look o’ Mysie;
She’s dour and din, a deilwithin,
Butaiblinsshe may please ye.
If she be shy, her sister try,
Ye’ll maybe fancy Jenny;
If ye’ll dispense wi’want o’ sense-
She kens herselshe’s bonie.
As ye gaeup byyonhillside,
Speir in for bonieBessy;
She’ll gieye a beck, and bidye light,
And handsomely address ye.
There’s few sae bonie, nanesaeguid,
In a’King George’ dominion;
If ye should doubt the truth o’this-
It’s Bessy’s ainopinion!