Whistle, An' I'll Come To You, My Lad
by Robert Burns


O Whistle, an' I'll come to you, my lad;
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
Though father and mither should baith gae mad,
O whistle, an I'll come to you, my lad.

But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin' to me.
O whistle, etc

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as though that ye cared nae a flie;
But steal me a blink o' your bonie black ee,
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.
O whistle, etc

Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
But court na anither, though jokin' ye be,
For fear that she wile your fancy frae me.
O whistle, etc.

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