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272. Song—My Love she's but a Lassie yet

by
 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!
 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, 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.

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