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.