The Scottish songs - National Library of Scotland

326
GREEN GROW THE RASHES.
BURNS.
TuKE Grant's Strathspey.
There's nought but care on every hand,
In every hour that passes, O ;
What signifies the life o' man.
An 'tvi^ere na for the lasses, O ?
Green grow the rashes, O,
Green grow the rashes, O :
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent
Were spent amang the lasses, O.
The warly race may riches chase,
And riches still may fly them, O
And though at last they catch them fast.
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O !
Gie me a canny hour at een.
My arms about my dearie, O
And warly cares, and warly men,
May a' gang tapsalteirie, O I
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O ;
The wisest man the warld e'er saw,
He dearly lo'ed the lasses, O I
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest works she classes, O
Her 'prentice-hand she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses, O.*
* There is an old rude song to this air, having the same owerword.
I subjoin, by way of curiosity, a German translation of this favourite
Scottish song, which has been handed to me by a friend.