SHould auld acquantance be forgot,
Tho’ they return with scars?
These are the noble hero’s lot,
Obtain’d in glorious wars:
Welcome, my VARO, to my breast,
Thy arms about me twine,
And make me once again as blest,
As I was lang syne.
Methinks around us on each bough,
A thousand Cupids play,
Whilst thro’ the groves I walk with you,
Each object makes me gay:
Since your return the sun and moon
With brighter beams do shine,
Streams murmure soft notes while they run,
As they did lang syne.
Despise the court and din of state;
Let that to their share fall,
Who can esteem such slav’ry great,
While bounded like a ball:
But sunk in love, upon my arms
Let your brave head recline,
We’ll please ourselves with mutual charms,
As we did lang syne.
O’er moor and dale, with your gay friend,
You may pursue the chace,
And, after a blyth bottle, end
All cares in my embrace:
And in a vacant rainy day
You shall be wholly mine;
We’ll make the hours run smooth away,
And laugh at lang syne.
The hero, pleas’d with the sweet air,
And signs of generous love,
Which had been utter’d by the fair,
Bow’d to the pow’rs above:
Next day, with consent and glad haste,
Th’ approach’d the sacred shrine;
Where the good priest the couple blest,
And put them out of pine.