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It is na, Jean, thy bonie face, Nor shape that I admire, Altho' thy beauty and thy grace Might weel awauk desire. Something in ilka part o' thee To praise, to love, I find, But dear as is thy form to me, Still dearer is thy mind. Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae, Nor stronger in my breast, Than, if I canna mak thee sae, At least to see thee blest. Content am I, if Heaven shall give But happiness to thee: And as wi' thee I'd wish to live, For thee I'd bear to die.
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