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!
 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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