Green Grow the Rashes

Gree grew the rashes, O (or "Green grew the rashes, O") is a poem bi Robert Burns, aboot the rashes an their beauty o whit he wis amoureus (in luv).

Lyrics

Gree Grow The Rashes, O

Owerwird

Gree grew the rashes, O;

Gree grew the rashes, O;

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,

Are spent among the lasses, O.

1.

There's nocht but care on ev'ry han',

In every oor that passes, O:

What signifies the life o' man,

An' 'twere nae for the lasses, O.

2.

The war'ly race may riches chase,

An' riches still may fly thaim, O;

An' tho' at last they catch them fast,

Their hearts can ne'er enjoy thaim, O.

3.

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,

Ma airms aboot my dearie, O,

An' war'ly cares an' war'ly men

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!

4.

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this;

Ye're nocht but senseless asses, O;

The wisest man the warld e'er saw,

He dearly lo'ed the lasses, O.

5.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears

Her noblest wark she classes, O:

Her prentice han' she trie'd on man,

An' then she made the lasses, O.

Sangers

This song is sung bi Ewan MacColl in a greit version, an aloot o ither singers, even in ither leids.