Bessy Bell and Mary Gray

O Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,

They are twa bonie lasses,

They biggit a bower on yon burn brae

And theekit it o'er wi' rashes.

Fair Bessy Bell I loo'd yestreen,

And thought I ne'er could alter:

But Mary Gray's twa pawky een,

Soon gar my fancy falter.

Now Bessy's hair's like a lint-tap;

She smiles like a May morning.

When Phoebus starts frae Thetis' lap,

The hills with rays adorning:

White is her neck, saft is her hand,

Her waist and feet's fu' genty;

With ilka grace she can command;

Her lips, O wow! they're dainty.

And Mary's locks are like the craw,

Her een like diamond glances;

She's ay sae clean, red 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.

Dear Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,

Ye unco sair oppress us;

Our fancies jee between you twae,

Ye are sic bonie lasses:

Waes me! for baith I canna get,

To ane by law we're stinted;

Then I'll draw cuts, and tak' my fate,

And be with ane contented.