C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Green Grow the Rashes

THERE’S naught but care on every han’,

In every hour that passes, O:

What signifies the life o’ man,

An ’t werena for the lasses, O?

CHORUS

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,

An’ riches still may fly them, O;

An’ though at last they catch them fast,

Their hearts can ne’er enjoy them, O.

But gi’e me a canny hour at e’en,

My arms about my dearie, O;

An’ warly cares, an’ warly men,

May a’ gae tapsalteerie, O!

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,

Ye’re nought but senseless asses, O;

The wisest man the warl’ e’er saw,

He dearly loved the lasses, O.

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears

Her noblest work she classes, O;

Her ’prentice han’ she tried on man,

An’ then she made the lasses, O.