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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Updated on Wed, Jan 18, 2006
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