JOHN ANDERSON JOHN ROBERT BURNS OHN ANDERSON, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither; Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go; And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo. COCK UP YOUR BEAVER ROBERT BURNS HEN first my brave Johnnie lad He had a blue bonnet A hat and a feather,- Cock up your beaver, And cock it fu' sprush, We'll over the border And gi'e them a brush; There's somebody there We'll teach better behaviour Hey, brave Johnnie lad, Cock up your beaver! A RED, RED ROSE ROBERT BURNS MY luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June! O, my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only luve ! THE WINSOME WEE THING S ROBERT BURNS HE is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine. I never saw a fairer, I never lo'ed a dearer; And neist my heart I'll wear her, For fear my jewel tine. She is a winsome wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine. The world's wrack we share o't, PHYLLIS THE FAIR ROBERT BURNS HILE larks with little wing Tasting the breathing Spring, Gay the sun's golden eye Peep'd o'er the mountains high; Such thy morn! did I cry, In each bird's careless song, While yon wild flowers among, Chance led me there: Sweet to the opening day, Rosebuds bent the dewy spray; Such thy bloom! did I say, Phyllis the fair. Down in a shady walk Doves cooing were, I mark'd the cruel hawk, |