Poems and Songs of Robert Burns. Robert Burns
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Название: Poems and Songs of Robert Burns

Автор: Robert Burns

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

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isbn: 4057664117434

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">       The wintry sun the day has clos'd,

       And I'll awa to Nanie, O.

       The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill;

       The night's baith mirk and rainy, O;

       But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal,

       An' owre the hill to Nanie, O.

       My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young;

       Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O:

       May ill befa' the flattering tongue

       That wad beguile my Nanie, O.

       Her face is fair, her heart is true;

       As spotless as she's bonie, O:

       The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,

       Nae purer is than Nanie, O.

       A country lad is my degree,

       An' few there be that ken me, O;

       But what care I how few they be,

       I'm welcome aye to Nanie, O.

       My riches a's my penny-fee,

       An' I maun guide it cannie, O;

       But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,

       My thoughts are a' my Nanie, O.

       Our auld guidman delights to view

       His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O;

       But I'm as blythe that hands his pleugh,

       An' has nae care but Nanie, O.

       Come weel, come woe, I care na by;

       I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O:

       Nae ither care in life have I,

       But live, an' love my Nanie, O.

       Table of Contents

      A Fragment

       Chor.—Green grow the rashes, O;

       Green grow the rashes, O;

       The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,

       Are spent amang the lasses, O.

       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, &c.

       The war'ly 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.

       Green grow, &c.

       But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,

       My arms about my dearie, O;

       An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men,

       May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!

       Green grow, &c.

       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.

       Green grow, &c.

       Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears

       Her noblest work she classes, O:

       Her prentice han' she try'd on man,

       An' then she made the lasses, O.

       Green grow, &c.

       Table of Contents

      Tune—“Lass, an I come near thee.”

      “Wha is that at my bower-door?”

       “O wha is it but Findlay!”

       “Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here:”

       “Indeed maun I,” quo' Findlay;

       “What mak' ye, sae like a thief?”

       “O come and see,” quo' Findlay;

       “Before the morn ye'll work mischief:”

       “Indeed will I,” quo' Findlay.

       “Gif I rise and let you in”—

       “Let me in,” quo' Findlay;

       “Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;”

       “Indeed will I,” quo' Findlay;

       “In my bower if ye should stay”—

       “Let me stay,” quo' Findlay;

       “I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;”

       “Indeed will I,” quo' Findlay.

       “Here this night if ye remain”—

       “I'll remain,” quo' Findlay;

       “I dread ye'll learn the gate again;”

       “Indeed will I,” quo' Findlay.

       “What may pass within this bower”—

       “Let it pass,” quo' Findlay;

       “Ye maun conceal till your last hour:”

       “Indeed will I,” quo' Findlay.

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