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Robert Burns (1759–1796).  Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics.  1909–14.
 
272. Song—My Love she’s but a Lassie yet
 
 
  MY love, she’s but a lassie yet,
  My love, she’s but a lassie yet;
We’ll let her stand a year or twa,
  She’ll no be half sae saucy yet;
  I rue the day I sought her, O!        5
  I rue the day I sought her, O!
Wha gets her needs na say she’s woo’d,
  But he may say he’s bought her, O.
 
  Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet,
  Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet,        10
Gae seek for pleasure whare you will,
  But here I never miss’d it yet,
  We’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t,
  We’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t;
The minister kiss’d the fiddler’s wife;        15
  He could na preach for thinkin o’t.
 

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