#ScottishWriters
Dear Sir, I’ll gie ye some advice… You’ll tak it no uncivil: You shouldna paint at angels mair, But try and paint the devil. To paint an Angel’s kittle wark,
THERE’S Death in the cup, so be… Nay, more—there is danger in touch… But who can avoid the fell snare, The man and his wine’s so bewitchi…
This day, Time winds th’ exhauste… To run the twelvemonth’s length ag… I see, the old bald-pated fellow, With ardent eyes, complexion sallo… Adjust the unimpair’d machine,
Here’s a health to them that’s awa… Here’s a health to them that’s awa And wha winna wish guid luck to ou… May never guid luck be their fa’! It’s guid to be merry and wise,
The sun lies clasped in amber clou… Half hidden in the sea, And o’er the sands the flowing tid… Comes racing merrilee. The hawthorn hedge is white with b…
AS I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wa’flower scents the dew… Where the howlet mourns in her ivy… And tells the midnight moon her ca… The winds were laid, the air was s…
Among the heathy hills and ragged… The roaring Fyers pours his mossy… Till full he dashes on the rocky m… Where, thro’ a shapeless breach, h… As high in air the bursting torren…
O thou! whatever title suit thee,- Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clo… Wha in yon cavern, grim an’ sootie… Clos’d under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cooti…
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
A Guide New-year I wish thee, Ma… Hae, there’s a ripp to thy auld ba… Tho’ thou’s howe-backit now, an’ k… I’ve seen the day There could hae gaen like ony stag…
It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonnie, Beneath the moon’s unclouded light… I held away to Annie: The time flew by wi’ tentless heed
AS father Adam first was fool’d, (A case that’s still too common,) Here lies man a woman ruled, The devil ruled the woman.
O Mally’s meek, Mally’s sweet, Mally’s modest and discreet, Mally’s rare, Mally’s fair, Mally’s ev’ry way compleat. As I was walking up the street,
My curse upon your venom’d stang, That shoots my tortur’d gums alang… And thro’ my lugs gies mony a twan… Wi’ gnawing vengeance; Tearing my nerves wi’ bitter pang,
O Thou! whatever title suit thee— Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clo… Wha in yon cavern grim an’ sootie, Clos’d under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cooti…
