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.
"I'll hap ye wi' my petticoat,
My ain kind dow;
I'll hap ye wi' my petticoat,
My ain kind dow.
The wind blaws cauld, my claithing's thin,—
O dearie, on me rue;
And hap me wi' thy petticoat,
My ain kind dow."
O Bell, thy looks ha'e kill'd my heart,
I pass the day in pain;
When night returns, I feel the smart,
And wish for thee in vain.
I'm starving cold, while thou art warm;
Have pity and incline,
And grant me for a hap that charm-
ing petticoat of thine.
My ravish'd fancy in amaze
Still wanders o'er thy charms,
Delusive dreams ten thousand ways
Present thee to my arms.
But waking, think what I endure,
While cruel thou decline
Those pleasures, which alone can cure
This panting breast of mine.
I faint, I fail, and wildly rove,
Because you still deny
The just reward that's due to love,
And let true passion die.
Oh! turn, and let compassion seize
That lovely breast of thine;
Thy petticoat could give me ease,
If thou and it were mine.
Sure heaven has fitted for delight
That beauteous form of thine,
And thou'rt too good its law to slight,
By hind'ring the design.
May all the powers of love agree,
At length to make thee mine;
Or loose my chains and set me free
From every charm of thine.