Lang hae I made o’ ladies white.
Now of ane black I will indite,
That landit furth o’ the last ships.
Wha fain wad I descrive perfite,
My Ladie wi’ the meikle lips.

How she is tute-mowt like an ape
And like a gangrel unto gape;
And how her short cat nose up-skips;
And how she shines like ony saip:
My Ladie wi’ the meikle lips.

When she is clad in rich appar’l
She blinks as bricht as ane tar-barrel:
When she was born the sun tholt ‘clipse,
The nicht fain faucht in her quarrel:
My Ladie wi’ the meikle lips.

Wha for her sake, wi’ spear and shield
Proves maist michtlie in the field,
Shall kiss, and wi’ her go in grips;
And thence furth her love shall wield:
My Ladie wi’ the meikle lips.