Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. |
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| 272. Song—My Love she’s but a Lassie yet |
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| MY love, she’s but a lassie yet, | |
| My love, she’s but a lassie yet; | |
| We’ll let her stand a year or twa, | |
| She’ll no be half sae saucy yet; | |
| I rue the day I sought her, O! | 5 |
| I rue the day I sought her, O! | |
| Wha gets her needs na say she’s woo’d, | |
| But he may say he’s bought her, O. | |
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| Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet, | |
| Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet, | 10 |
| Gae seek for pleasure whare you will, | |
| But here I never miss’d it yet, | |
| We’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t, | |
| We’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t; | |
| The minister kiss’d the fiddler’s wife; | 15 |
| He could na preach for thinkin o’t. | |
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