A Red, Red Rose
A Red, Red Rose
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:
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,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.
Bonnie Doon
| "Ye Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doon" |
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| YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, |
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| How can ye bloom sae fair? |
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| How can ye chant, ye little birds, |
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| And I sae fu' o' care? |
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| Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird |
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| That sings upon the bough; |
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| Thou minds me o' the happy days |
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| When my fause Luve was true. |
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| Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird |
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| That sings beside thy mate; |
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| For sae I sat, and sae I sang, |
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| And wist na o' my fate. |
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| Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon |
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| To see the woodbine twine: |
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| And ilka bird sang o' its Luve, |
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| And sae did I o' mine. |
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| Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, |
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| Frae aff its thorny tree; |
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| And my fause Luver staw the rose |
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| But left the thorn wi' me. |
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