There's nought but care on ev'ry han',In ev'ry hour that passes, O:What signifies the life o'man,And 'twere na for the lasses, O?
CHORUS.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 wardly race may riches chace,And riches still may flee them, O;And tho' at last they catch them fast,Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O,Green grow, &c.
Gie me a cannie hour at e'en,My arms about my deary, O,And warldly cares, and warldly men,May a' gae tapsalteerie, O.Green grow, &c.
For you, sae douse. ye sneer at this,Ye're nought but senseless asses, O;The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,He dearly lo'ed the lasses, O.Green grow, &c.
Auld Nature swears, the lovely DearsHer noblest work she classes, O;Her prentice-han' she try'd on man,And then she made the lasses, O.Green grow, &c.
Divider from 'The Beauties of Burn's Poems' a chapbook printed in Falkirk in 1819
_-_divider_type_11.jpg)