Our auld Guidman delights to view His sheep an’ kye thrive bonnie O: But I’m as blythe that hauds his pleugh, An’ has nae care but Nannie O. Come weel, come woe, I care na by, I’ll tak what Heav’n will send me O; Nae ither care in life have I, But live, an’ love my Nannie O. THE RIGS O’ BARLEY It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonnie, Beneath the moon’s unclouded light I held awa to Annie: The time flew by wi’ tentless heed, Till ’tween the late and early, Wi’ sma’ persuasion she agreed To see me thro’ the barley. The sky was blue, the wind was still, The moon was shining clearly; I set her down wi’ right good will Amang the rigs o’ barley; I kent her heart was a’ my ain; I loved her most sincerely; I kissed her owre and owre again Amang the rigs o’ barley. I locked her in my fond embrace; Her heart was beating rarely; My blessings on that happy place, Amang the rigs o’ barley! But by the moon and stars so bright, That shone that hour so clearly, She aye shall bless that happy night Amang the rigs o’ barley. I hae been blythe wi’ comrades dear; I hae been merry drinking; I hae been joyfu’ gatherin’ gear; I hae been happy thinking: But a’ the pleasures e’er I saw, Tho’ three times doubled fairly, That happy night was worth them a’, Amang the rigs o’ barley. Corn rigs, an’ barley rigs, An’ corn rigs are bonnie: I’ll ne’er forget that happy night, Amang the rigs wi’ Annie. GREEN GROW THE RASHES 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. Green grow the rashes O, Green grow the rashes O; The sweetest hours that e’er I spend, Are spent amang the lasses O! The warly 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. But gie me a canny hour at e’en, My arms about my dearie O; An’ warly cares, an’ warly men, May a’ gae tapsalteerie O! For you sae douce, ye sneer at this, Ye’re nought but senseless asses O: The wisest man the warl’ e’er saw, He dearly lov’d the lasses O. 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. A WINTER NIGHT