Constant swain (1)/Steer Her Up, and Ha'd Her Gawn

STEER HER up, and ha'd HER gaw'n,

O Steer her up, and ha'd her gawn,
⁠her mither's at the mill, jo;
But gin the winna tak a man,
⁠e'en let her tak her will, jo,

Pray thee, lad, leave silly thinking,
⁠cast thy cares of love away ;
Let our sorrows drown in drinking,
⁠’tis daffin anger to delay.

See that shining glass of claret,
⁠how invitingly it looks;
Tak it all, and let’s hae mair o't,
⁠pox on lighting trade, and books.

Let’s hae mair pleasure while we’re able,
⁠bring us in the meikle bowl,
Plac’t on the middle of the table,
⁠and let wind and weather gowl.

Call the drawer, let him fill it
⁠fou, as ever it can hold:
O tak tent ye dinna spill it,
⁠’tis mair precious far than gold.

By you’ve drank a dozen bumpers,
⁠Bacchus will begin to prove,
Spite of Venus and her mumpers,
⁠drinking better is than love.