A Red, Red Rose

O My luve’s like a red, red rose,

That’s newly sprung in June;

O My Luve’s like the melodie

That’s sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:

O I will love thee still, my dear,

While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve,

And fare thee weel a while!

And I will come again, my luve,

Though it were ten thousand mile.