#Scots #XVIIICentury
Scots, what hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victorie! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
Here’s a health to ane I lo’e dea… Here’s a health to ane I lo’e dea… Thou art sweet as the smile when f… And soft as their parting tear– J… Although thou maun never be mine,
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi’ saut tears tricklin down your… Our bardie’s fate is at a close, Past a’ remead! The last, sad cape—stane o’ his wo…
It was in sweet Senegal that my f… For the lands of Virginia—ginia O… Torn from that lovely shore, and m… And alas! I am weary, weary O! Torn from &c.
Thou’s welcome, wean; mishanter fa… If thoughts o’ thee, or yet thy ma… Shall ever daunton me or awe me, My sweet wee lady, Or if I blush when thou shalt ca’…
WHILE new-ca’d kye rowte at the… An’ pownies reek in pleugh or brai… This hour on e’enin’s edge I take… To own I’m debtor To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,
When o’er the hill the eastern sta… Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo, And owsen frae the furrow’d field Return sae dowf and weary O; Down by the burn where scented bir…
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,
THAT there is a falsehood in his… I must and will deny: They tell their Master is a knave… And sure they do not lie.
HERE Souter Hood in death does… To hell if he’s gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep; He’ll haud it weel thegither.
Ye flowery banks o’ bonie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu’ o’ care? Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonie…
HERE lie Willie Michie’s banes; O Satan, when ye tak him, Gie him the schulin o’ your weans, For clever deils he’ll mak them!
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,
FLOW gently, sweet Afton! amang… Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a son… My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring… Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb… Thou stockdove whose echo resounds…
YE flowery banks o’ bonnie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu’ o’ care! Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonni…