John Anderson, My Jo (A Continuation)

John Anderson, my jo, John,
I wonder what ye mean,
To rise sae early in the morn,
And sit sae late at e'en;
Ye 'll blear out a' your een, John,
And why should you do so?
Gang sooner to your bed at e'en,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
When Nature first began
To try her canny hand, John,
Her masterpiece was man;
And you amang them a', John,
Sae trig frae tap to toe--
She proved to be nae journeyman,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
Ye were my first conceit;
And ye needna think it strange, John,
That I ca' ye trim and neat;
Though some folks say ye 're auld, John,
I never think ye so;
But I think ye 're aye the same to me,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
We 've seen our bairns' bairns;
And yet, my dear John Anderson,
I 'm happy in your arms;
And sae are ye in mine, John,
I 'm sure ye 'll ne'er say, No;
Though the days are gane that we have seen,
John Anderson, my jo.