Complete Songs Of Robert Burns - online book

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	4 TONE-POETRY OF ROBERT BURNS
	No. 4. Yestreen I met you on the moor.



	Chorus. O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, Ye ivadna been sae shy; For laik o' gear ye lightly me, But, trouith, I care na by.

	Yestreen I met you on the moor, Ye spak na but gaed by like stoure : Ye geek at me because I'm poor, But fient a hair care I. When comin hame on Sunday last, Upon the road as I cam past, Ye snufft an' gae your head a cast— But, trowth, I care't na by. I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, Because ye hae the name o' clink, That ye can please me at a wink, Whene'er ye like to try. But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, Wha follows ony saucy quean, That looks sae proud and high 1	Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, If that he want the yellow dirt, Ye'll cast your head anither airt, And answer him fu' dry. But if he hae the name o' gear, Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, Tho' hardly he, for sense or Iear Be better than the kye. But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice; The deil a ane wad speir your price, Were ye as poor as I. There lives a lass beside yon park, I'd rather hae her in her sark Than you, wi' a' your thousand mark That gars you look sae high.