7
They bigg'd a bower on yon burn brae,
And theek'd it owre wi' rashes.
8essy Bell I lo'ed yestreen,
And thought I ne'er could alter;
But Mary Gray's twa packy een
They gar my fancy faulter,
Bessy's hair's 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 waist and feet fu' genty,
With ilka grace she can command;
Her lips, O vow their dainty.
Mary's locks are like the craw,
Her eye like diamond glances,
She's ay sae clean, redd-up,and braw.
She kills whene'er she dances.
Blythe as a kid, with wit at will,
She blooming, tight, and tall is;
And guides her airs sae gracefu' still;
O Jove, she's like thy Pallas!
Bessy Bell and Mary Gray
Ye unco sair oppress us;
Our fancies jee between you twa,
