This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
How brightly beams the bonnie moon
Frae out the azure sky,
While ilka little star aboon
Seems sparkling bright wi' joy.
How calm the eve! how blest the hour!
How soft the sylvan scene!
How fit to meet thee, lovely flower!
Sweet Bet of Aberdeen.
Now let us wander through the broom,
And o'er the flowery lea;
While simmer wafts her rich perfume
Frae yonder hawthorn tree,
There on yon mossy bank we'll rest,
Where we've sae aften been,
Clasp'd to each other's throbbing breast,
Sweet Bet of Aberdeen.
How sweet to view that face so meek,
That dark expressive eye;
To kiss that lovely blushing cheek,
Those lips of coral dye;
But oh! to hear thy seraph strains,
Thy maiden sighs between,
Makes rapture thrill through all my vein
Sweet Bet of Aberdeen.
Oh! what to us is wealth or rank?
Or what is pomp or power?
More dear this velvet mossy bank,
This blest ecstatic hour:
I'd covet not the monarch's throne,
Nor diamond-studded queen,
While blest wi' thee, and thee alone,
Sweet Bet of Aberdeen.