My bonny lass, thine eye 
     So sly 
Hath made me sorrow so;
Thy crimson cheeks my dear,
     So clear,
Have so much wrought my woe;

Thy pleasing smiles and grace,
     Thy face, 
Have ravished so my sprites, 
That life is grown to nought
     Through thought 
Of love, which me affrights.

For fancy's flames of fire
     Aspire 
Unto such furious power 
As, but the tears I shed
     Make dead 
The brands would me devour,

I should consume to nought
     Through thought
Of thy fair shining eye,
Thy cheeks, thy pleasing smiles,
     The wiles
That forced my heart to die;

Thy grace, thy face, the part
     Where art
Stands gazing still to see
The wondrous gifts and power,
     Each hour,
That hath bewitched me.