“O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad”

Robert Burns (1759–1796)

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, etc.

O whistle, etc.

At kirk, or at market, whene’er ye meet me,

Gang by me as tho’ that ye cared nae a flie;

But steal me a blink o’ your bonnie black ee,

Yet look as ye were na lookin’ at me.

Yet look, etc.

O whistle, etc.

Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me,

And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;

But court nae anither, tho’ jokin’ ye be,

For fear that she wile your fancy frae me.

For fear, etc.

O whistle, and I ’ll come to you, my lad.