6. The Tarbolton Lasses

 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:
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 hersel 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!

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