Bessy of Blyth

In Cramlington we've bonnie lasses enow,
With checks red as roses, and eyes black or blue;
But Bessy of Blyth I love better than onie--
My heart is still there with my own dear honey.

My uncle says, "Robin, why sure you are mad,
To slight Suky Swan--she's worth money, my lad!"
Dear uncle, says I, I'll ne'er marry for money,
And none will I have but my own dear honey.

Her face I compare to the blush of the morn,
Her breath to the scent of the fresh-blossom'd thorn;
For virtue and sense she's not equall'd by monie--
Few, few can compare with my own dear honey.

As in this world of care there is nought we approve,
Compar'd to the faithful good wife that we love;
To sweeten life's sorrow, the gall mix with honey,
I'll wed my dear Bess, and a fig for their money.