My Love She’s But a Lassie Yet (Poem by Robert Burns)

Old Poem

My Love She’s But a Lassie Yet
By Robert Burns

(1)

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,
    Shell no be half so saucy yet.
I rue the day I sought her, O;
    I rue the day I sought her, O;
Wha gets her needs na say he’s woo’d,
    But he may say he’s bought her, O!

(2)

Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet;
    Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet;
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will,
    But here I never miss’d it yet.
We’re a’ dry wi’ drinking o’t;
    We’re a’ dry wi’ drinking o’t;
The minister kiss’d the fiddler’s wife,
    An’ could na preach for thinkin’ o’t.


Note:
These verses had their origin in an olden strain, equally lively and less delicate: some of the old lines keep their place: the title is old. Both words and all are in the Musical Museum.

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