Steer Her Up
O, steer her up, an' haud her gaun -
Her mither's at the mill, sweetheart,
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 fin' anither will, jo.
Rouse Her Up
O, rouse her up, and hold her going -
Her mother is at the mill, sweetheart,
And if she will not take a man,
Even let her take her will, sweetheart.
First threaten her with a gentle kiss,
And call for another gill, sweetheart,
And should she takes the thing amiss,
Even let her scold her fill, sweetheart.
O rouse her up, and be not bashful,
And should she take it ill, sweetheart,
Then leave the girl till her fate,
And time no longer spill, sweetheart!
Never break your heart for one rebuff,
But think upon it still, sweetheart,
That if the lassie will not do it,
You will find another will, sweetheart.