Steer her up, and had her gawin

O steer her up, and had her gawin,

Her mither's at the mill, jo;

But gin she winna tak a man,

E'en let her tak her will, jo.

Pray thee, lad, leave silly thinking,

Cast thy cares of love away;

Let's our sorrows drown in drinking,

'Tis daffin langer to delay, jo.

See that shining glass of claret,

How invitingly it looks;

Tak it aff, let's ha'e mair o't,

Pox on sighing, trade, and books.

Let's ha'e mair pleasure while we're able,

Bring us in the meikle bowl,

Place't on the middle of the table,

And let the wind and weather growl.