Читать книгу Old Ballads - Various - Страница 11

John Anderson, my Jo, John,

  When we were first acquent,

Your locks were like the raven,

  Your bonnie brow was brent;

But now your brow is beld, John,

  Your locks are like the snaw;

But blessings on your frosty pow,

  John Anderson, my Jo.

John Anderson, my Jo, John,

  We clamb the hill thegither;

And monie a canty day, John,

  We've had wi' ane anither:

Now we maun totter down, John,

  But hand in hand we'll go,

And sleep thegither at the foot,

  John Anderson, my Jo.