O, STEER HER UP, AN' HAUD HER GAUN
I
O, steer her up, an' haud her gaun—
Her mither's at the mill, jo,
An' gin she winna tak a man,
E'en let her tak her will, jo.
First shore her wi' a gentle kiss,
And ca' anither gill, jo,
An' gin she tak the thing amiss,
E'en let her flyte her fill, jo.
II
O, steer her up, an' be na blate,
An' gin she tak it ill, jo,
Then leave the lassie till her fate,
And time nae langer spill, jo!
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute,
But think upon it still, jo,
That gin the lassie winna do't,
Ye'll fin' anither will, jo.
