"Now, wae light on a' your flow'ry chat,
Lass, an' ye lo'e me, tell me now;
It 's no the thing that I would be at,
An' I canna come every night to woo!
The lamb is bonny upon the brae,
The leveret friskin' o'er the knowe,
The bird is bonny upon the tree--
But which is the dearest of a' to you?"

"The thing that I lo'e best of a',
Lass, an' ye lo'e me, tell me now;
The dearest thing that ever I saw,
Though I canna come every night to woo,
Is the kindly smile that beams on me,
Whenever a gentle hand I press,
And the wily blink frae the dark-blue e'e
Of a dear, dear lassie that they ca' Bess."

"Aha! young man, but I cou'dna see,
What I lo'e best I 'll tell you now,
The compliment that ye sought frae me,
Though ye canna come every night to woo;
Yet I would rather hae frae you
A kindly look, an' a word witha',
Than a' the flowers o' the forest pu',
Than a' the lads that ever I saw."

"Then, dear, dear Bessie, you shall be mine,
Sin' a' the truth ye hae tauld me now,