A Bousing Catch

My love she’s but a lassie yet; My love she’s but a lassie yet; We’ll let her stand a year or twa, She’ll no be half sae saucy yet. I rue the day I sought her, O, I rue the day I sought her, O; Wha gets her needs na say she’s woo’d, But he may say he’s bought her, O!

Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet; Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet; Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, But here I never miss’d it yet. We’re a’ dry wi’ drinking o’t, We’re a’ dry wi’ drinking o’t; The minister kiss’d the fiddler’s wife, An’ could na preach for thinkin’ o’t.