Green are the rashes - Caprice

Green are the rashes, O

Green are the rashes, O

The sweetest hours that e’er I spend

Are spent among the lasses, O

There’s nought but care on ev’ry han'

In every hour that passes, O

What signifies the life o' man

In hands of lasses, O

The war’ly race may riches chase

An' riches still may fly them, O

An' tho' at last they catch them fast

Their hearts cannot enjoy them, O

But give me cannie hour at night

My arms about my dearie, O

An' war’ly cares an' war’ly men

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O

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