Flow gently, sweet Afton, among t… Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a son… My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring… Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb… Thou stock—dove, whose echo resoun…

There was a bonie lass, And a bonie, bonie lass, And she lo’ed her bonie laddie dea… Till War’s loud alarms Tore her laddie frae her arms,

Thou’s welcome, wean; mishanter fa… If thoughts o’ thee, or yet thy ma… Shall ever daunton me or awe me, My bonie lady, Or if I blush when thou shalt ca’…

“Whare live ye, my bonielass? And tell me what they ca’ye;” “My name,” she says, “is mistress… And I follow the Collier laddie.” “My name, she says, &c.

DEAR SIR, at ony time or tide, I’d rather sit wi’ you than ride, Though 'twere wi’ royal Geordie: And trowth, your kindness, soon an… Aft gars me to mysel’ look blate—

The Author’s Only Pet Yowe An Unco Mournfu’ Tale As Mailie, an’ her lambs thegithe… Was ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,

My Son, these maxims make a rule, An’ lump them aye thegither; The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither: The cleanest corn that ere was dig…

BLESS Jesus Christ, O Cardones… With grateful, lifted eyes, Who taught that not the soul alone… But body too shall rise; For had He said “the soul alone

Chorus—Long, long the night, Heavy comes the morrow While my soul’s delight Is on her bed of sorrow. CAN I cease to care?

OF Lordly acquaintance you boast, And the Dukes that you dined wi’… Yet an insect’s an insect at most, Tho’ it crawl on the curl of a Qu…

Coming thro’ the rye, poor body, Coming thro’ the rye, She draiglet a’ her petticoatie Coming thro’ the rye. O, Jenny’s a’ wat, poor body;

My mither sent me tae the moss For to gaither peats and dross. I cowpit the cairt and hanged the… An whistle ow’r the lave o’t. My mither sent me tae the well

In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are p… And proper young lasses and a’, ma… But ken ye the Ronalds that live… They carry the gree frae them a’,… Their father’s laird, and weel he…

HERE’S to thy health, my bonie l… Gude nicht and joy be wi’ thee; I’ll come nae mair to thy bower-do… To tell thee that I lo’e thee. O dinna think, my pretty pink,

HEALTH to the Maxwell’s vetera… Health, aye unsour’d by care or gr… Inspir’d, I turn’d Fate’s sibyl l… This natal morn, I see thy life is stuff o’ prief,