Robert Burns(1759–1796)
Green Grow the Rashes
Green grow the rashes, O;tall grasses or rushes
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, Ol
There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.if
Green grow the rashes, O; . . .
The warly race may riches chase,worldly
An' riches still may fly them, O;
An' though at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Green grow the rashes, O; . . .
But gie me a canny 0 hour at e'en,pleasant
My arms about my Dearie, O;
An' warly cares, an' warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!topsy-turvy
Green grow the rashes, O; . . .
For you sae douce, 0 ye sneer at this,prudent
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O:
The wisest man1 the warl' saw,
He dearly loved the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, 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.
Green grow the rashes, O; . . .
1787