Tarbolton Lasses, The

      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!