Green Grow The Rashes, O!
An ode to women by Robert Burns

1]
There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes, O.
What signifies the life o' man,
An' twere na for the lasses, O.

[CHORUS]
Green grow the rashes, O,
Green grow the rashes, O,
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent,
Are spent amang the lasses, O!

2]
The warldly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O,
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

3]
But gie me a canty hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O,
An' warldly cares, an' warldly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!

4]
For you sae douce, wha sneer at this,
Ye're nought 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 work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O!

Translations of Scots-English phrases (for a' yeh tha' canna understan'):
"But gie me a canty hour at e'en," = But give me a happy hour at eveningtime,
"May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!" = May all go topsey-turvey, Oh!
"For you sae douce, wha sneer at this," = For you so prude, what sneer at this,


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This is not intended for wider publication or larger distribution.

Updated on Wed, Jan 18, 2006
© 2006 TechnoCelt Productions in association with The Celtic Arts Center / An Claidheamh Soluis. All rights reserved.