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!

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,

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;

He could na preach for thinkin o’t.