Robert Burns

“Green Grow the Rashes O…”

Green grow the rashes O,
         	Green grow the rashes O;
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend,
    	Are spent amang the lasses O!

There’s nought but care on ev’ry han’,
  	In ev’ry hour that passes O;
What signifies the life o’ man,
  	An’ ’twere us for the lasses O.

The warly race may riches chase,
  	An’ riches still may fly them O;
An’ tho’ at last they catch them fast,
  	Their hearts can ne’er enjoy them O.

But gie me a canny hour at e’en,
  	My arms about my dearie O;
An’ warly cares, an’ warly men,
  	May a’ gae tapsalteerie O!

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
  	Ye’re nought but senseless asses O:
The wisest man the warl’ saw,
  	He dearly lov’d the lasses O.

Auld nature swears, the lovely dears
  	Her noblest work she classes O;
Her prentice han’ she tried on man,
  	An’ then she made the lasses O.