A Drop of Scotch

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XIX, Issue 64, 2 March 1929, Page 9

A Drop of Scotch

Green Grow the Rashes There's nought but care on every han’, In every hour that nasses, O: What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses, OP The war'Jy race may riches chase, An’ riche s still may fly them, Q; An’ tho’ at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne’er enjoy them, O. Gie me a cannie hour at e’en, My arms about m v dearie, 0, An war’ly cares an’ war’ly men May a’ gae tapsalfeerie, 01 For you sae douce, ye sneer at this; Ye’re nought but senseless asses,O; The wisest man t|ja warl’ e’er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, O. Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, 0; Hor prentice han’ she tried on man, An’ then she made the lasses, O. Green grow the rashes, 0; Green grow the rashes, 0; The sweetest hours that e’er I spend, Arc spent among the lasses, (). —Robert Burns.