John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is bled, John, Your locks are like the straw, But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo!

John Anderson my jo, John, We climbed the hill together And many a canty day, John, We've had with one another; Now we must totter down, John, And hand in hand we'll go, And sleep together at the foot, John Anderson my jo!

A RED, RED ROSE

By Robert Burns

O my luve is like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June;

O my luve is like the melodie,

That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair thou art, my bonie lass,

So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the sea gang dry, my dear,

And the rock melt wi' the sun;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve,

And fare thee weel a while;

And I will come again, my luve,

Tho's it were ten thousand mile!