If ye gae up to yon hill-tap, Ye'll there see bonnie 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 bonnie. As ye gae up by yon hillside, Speir in for bonnie Bessy; She'll gie ye a beck, and bid ye light, And handsomely address ye. There's few sae bonnie, nane sae guid, In a' King George' dominion; If ye should doubt the truth o' this -- It's Bessy's ain opinion! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHER JUNKIE by CLARENCE MAJOR APOLLO AT LAX by KAREN SWENSON THE LAST MAN: A CROCODILE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANTING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA by GEORGE BERKELEY EACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE by WILLIAM HERBERT CARRUTH BEYOND THE POTOMAC by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE |