Robert Burns (1759–1796)

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 every hour that passes, O:

What signifies the life o’ man,

An’ ’twere na for the lasses, O!
Green grow, etc.

The war’ly 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.
Green grow, etc.

But gie me a cannie hour at e’en,

My arms about my dearie, O;

An’ war’ly cares, an’ war’ly men,

May a’ gae tapsalteerie, O.
Green grow, etc.

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this;

Ye’re nought but senseless asses, O;

The wisest man the warl’ e’er saw,

He dearly lov’d the lasses, O.
Green grow, etc.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears

Her noblest work she classes, O:

Her prentice han’ she try’d on man,

An’ then she made the lasses, O.
Green grow, etc.