Poem by Robert Burns

* * *

O can ye labour lea, young man,
  	An’ can ye labour lea;
Gae back the gate ye cam’ again,
  	Ye’se never scorn me.

I fee’d a man at Martinmas,
  	Wi’ arle pennies three;
An’ a’ the faut I fan’ wi’ him,
  	He couldna labour lea.

The stibble rig is easy plough’d,
  	The fallow land is free;
But wha wad keep the handless coof,
  	That couldna labour lea?

1. Their Groves O’ sweet Myrtle
2. The Bonnie Wee Thing
3. As Down the Burn They Took Their Way
4. Gala Water
5. Stay My Charmer

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