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William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.

Green Grow the Rashes

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.