Robert Burns

“O Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad…”

  	O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad;
  	O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad:
  	Tho’ father and mither and a’ should gae mad,
  	O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad.

But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin’ to me.
And come as ye were na comin’ to me.

At kirk, or at market, whene’er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho’ that ye car’d na a flee:
But steal me a blink o’ your bonnie black ee,
Yet look as ye were na lookin’ at me.
Yet look as ye were na lookin’ at me.

Aye vow and protest that ye care us for me,
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
But court na anither, tho’ jokin’ ye be,
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.