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O Steer Her Up An' Haud Her Gaun

     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.