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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's Sophy tight, a lassie bright,
Besides a handsome fortune:
Wha canna win her in a night,
Has little art in courtin.
Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale,
And tak a look o Mysie:
She's dour and din, a deil within,
But aiblins she 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 herself she's bonie.
As ye gae up by yon hillside,
Speir in for bonie Bessy;
She'll gie ye a beck, and bid ye light,
And handsomely address ye.
There's few sae bonie, nane sae guid
In a' King George' dominion;
If ye should doubt the truth o this,
It's Bessy's ain opinion!
Poem Index
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