THIS 1 wot ye all whom it concer… I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, October twenty-third, A ne’er-to-be-forgotten day, Sae far I sprackl’d up the brae,

I am nae poet, in a sense, But just a rhymer like by chance, An’ hae to learning nae pretence; Yet what the matter? Whene’er my Muse does on me glanc…

1 Ca’ the yowes to the knowes, 2 Ca’ them where the heather g… 3 Ca’ them where the burnie ro… 4 My bonie dearie. 5 Hark! the mavis’ evening san…

When Princes and Prelates and het… All Europe hae set in a lowe, The poor man lies down, nor envies… And comforts himsel with a mowe. And why shouldna poor folk mowe, m…

IT was a’ for our rightfu’ King We left fair Scotland’s strand; It was a’ for our rightfu’ King We e’er saw Irish land, My dear—

Stay, my Charmer, can you leave m… Cruel, cruel to deceive me! Well you know how much you grieve… Cruel Charmer, can you go! Cruel Charmer, can you go!

Hear, Land o’ Cakes, and brither… Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat’… If there’s a hole in a’ your coats… I rede you tent it: A chield’s amang you takin notes,

I dream’d I lay where flowers wer… Gaily in the sunny beam; List’ning to the wild birds singin… By a falling crystal stream: Straight the sky grew black and da…

O were I on Parnassus hill; Or had o’ Helicon my fill; That I might catch poetic skill, To sing how dear I love thee. But Nith maun be my Muses well,

Wha will buy my Troggin, fine Election Ware; Broken trade o’ Broughton A’ in high repair? Buy braw Troggin,

O WHY the deuce should I repine, And be an ill foreboder? I’m twenty-three, and five feet ni… I’ll go and be a sodger! I gat some gear wi’ mickle care,

If ye gae up to yon hill—tap, Ye’ll there see bonie Peggy; She kens her father is a laird, And she forsooth’s a leddy. There Sophy tight, a lassie brigh…

LET not Woman e’er complain Of inconstancy in love; Let not Woman e’er complain Fickle Man is apt to rove: Look abroad thro’ Nature’s range,

OH, open the door, some pity to s… Oh, open the door to me, oh, Tho’ thou hast been false, I’ll e… Oh, open the door to me, oh. Cauld is the blast upon my pale ch…

FATE gave the word, the arrow sp… And pierc’d my darling’s heart; And with him all the joys are fled Life can to me impart. By cruel hands the sapling drops,