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 hersel she's bonnie.
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 bonny, nane sae guid,
In a' King George' dominion;
If ye should doubt the truth o' this
It 's Bessy's ain opinion.