From ‘The Merry Muses of Caledonia’ (partly written, partly collected by Robert Burns).
“…Her kittle black een they wad thirl you thro’.
Her rose-bud lips cry, kiss me now;
The curls and links o’ her bonie black hair,
Wad put you in mind that the lassie has mair
An armfu’ o’ love is her bosom sae plump,
A span o’ delight is her middle sae jimp;
A taper, white leg, and a thumpin thie,
And a fiddle near by, an ye play a wee!
Love’s her delight, and kissin’s her treasure;
She’ll stick at nae price, and ye gie her gude measure,
As lang’s a sheep-fit, and as girt’s a goose-egg,
And that’s the measure o’ Muirland Meg.