Page:Green grow the rashes.pdf/2



There nought but care on every hand,
 * In every hour that passes, O.

What signifies the life o' man
 * And 'twere na for the lasses, O
 * Green grow the rashes, O,
 * Green grow the rashes, O,
 * The sweetest hours that e'er I spent,
 * I spent amang the lasses, O.

The warldly race may rich chase,
 * And riches still may flee them, O

And though at last they catch them fast,
 * Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

But give me a caunle hour at een,
 * My arms about my dearie O

And warldly cares and warldly men,
 * May s' gae tapsalteerie O.

For you see douse, who sneer at this,
 * Ye're neught but silly asses, O;

The wisest man the world e'er saw,
 * He dearly lo'ed the lasses, O.