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The Tarbolton Lasses

by Robert Burns, 1779

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!

Published in Poems and Songs of Robert Burns
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