60

John Anderson, my Jo.

JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John, when Nature first began
To try her canny hand, John, her master work was man
And you amang them a' John, so trig from top to toe,
She prov'd to be nae journeywork, John Anderson, my jo

John Anderson, my jo, John, ye were my first conceit,
I think nae shame to own, John, I lo'ed ye ear' and late:
They say ye're turning auld John, and what though it be so,
Ye're ay the same kind man to me, John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John, when we were first acquaint,
Your locks were like the raven, your bonny brow was brent,
But now your brow is bald, John, your locks are like the snow,
Yet, blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John, we clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John, we've had wi' ane anither;
Now we maun totter down, John, but hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo.