an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

her cheeks are like yon crimson gem,

the pride of all the flowery scene,

just opening on its thorny stem;

an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

her bosom's like the nightly snow,

when pale the morning rises keen,

while hid the murm'ring streamlets flow;

an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

her lips are like yon cherries ripe,

that sunny walls from boreas screen;

they tempt the taste and charm the sight;

an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

her teeth are like a flock of sheep,

with fleeces newly washen clean,

that slowly mount the rising steep;

an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

her breath is like the fragrant breeze,

that gently stirs the blossom'd bean,

when phoebus sinks behind the seas;

an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

her voice is like the ev'ning thrush,

that sings on cessnock banks unseen,

while his mate sits nestling in the bush;

an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

but it's not her air, her form, her face,

tho' matching beauty's fabled queen;

'tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace,

an' chiefly in her roguish een.