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.
Whoe'er beholds my Helen's face,
And says not that good hap has she;
Who hears her speak, and tents her grace,
Sall think nane ever spake but she.
The short way to resound her praise
She is the lairest of her days.
Who knows her wit, and not admires,
He maun be deem'd devoid of skill;
Her virtues kindle strong desires
In them that think upon her still.
The short way, &c.
Her red is like unto the rose
Whase buds are op'ning to the sun,
Her comely colours do disclose
The first degree of ripeness won.
The short way, &c.
And with the red is mixt the white,
Like to the sun and fair moonshine,
That does upon clear waters light,
And makes the colour seem divine.
The short way, &c.