O, B ESSY Bell and Mary Gray!
They are twa bonny lasses,
They bigg'd a bower on yon burn-brae,
And theck'd it o'er with rashes:
Fair Bessy Bell I loo'd yestreen,
And thought I ne'er cou'd alter,
But Mary Gray's twa pawky een
They gar my fancy falter.

Now 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 's fou genty,
With ilka grace she can command,
Her lips, O wow! they 're dainty.

And Mary's locks are like the craw,
Her eyes like diamonds glances;
She 's ay sae clean red up and braw,
She kills whene'er she dances:
Blyth 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 bonny lasses:
Wae 's me! for baith I canna get,
To ane by law we 're stinted;
Then I 'll draw cuts, and take my fate,
And be with ane contented.