O steer her up, an’ haud her gaun,Her mither’s at the mill, jo;An’ gin she winna tak a man,E’en let her tak her will, jo.First shore her wi’ a gentle kiss,And ca’ anither gill, jo;An’ gin she tak the thing amiss,E’en let her flyte her fill, jo.
O steer her up, an’ be na blate,An’ gin she tak it ill, jo,Then leave the lassie till her fate,And time nae langer spill, jo:Ne’er break your heart for ae rebute,But think upon it still, jo:That gin the lassie winna do’t,Ye’ll find anither will, jo.