Also known as 'On An Innkeeper In Tarbolton'
#Scots #XVIIICentury
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous bea… O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi’ bickerin brattle! I wad be laith to rin an’ chase th…
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…
A robe of seeming truth and trust Hid crafty Observation; And secret hung, with poison’d cru… The dirk of Defamation: A mask that like the gorget show’d…
“O cam ye here the fight to shun, Or herd the sheep wi’ me, man? Or were ye at the Sherra—moor, Or did the battle see, man?” “I saw the battle, sair and teugh
Wha will buy my Troggin, fine Election Ware; Broken trade o’ Broughton A’ in high repair? Buy braw Troggin,
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary… And leave auld Scotia’s shore; Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary… Across th’ Atlantic roar. O sweet grows the lime and the ora…
A Tale 'Twas in that place o’ Scotland’s… That bears the name o’ auld King… Upon a bonie day in June, When wearin’ thro’ the afternoon,
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, and then forever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll… Warring sighs and groans I’ll wag… Who shall say that Fortune grieve…
When Januar’ wind was blawing cau… As to the north I took my way, The mirksome night did me enfauld, I knew na whare to lodge till day: By my gude luck a maid I met,
NO churchman am I for to rail and… No statesman nor soldier to plot o… No sly man of business contriving… For a big-belly’d bottle’s the who… The peer I don’t envy, I give him…
STILL anxious to secure your par… And not less anxious, sure, this n… A Prologue, Epilogue, or some suc… 'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if… So sought a poet, roosted near the…
A’ YE wha live by sowps o’ drink, A’ ye wha live by crambo-clink, A’ ye wha live and never think, Come, mourn wi’ me! Our billie 's gien us a’ a jink,
NO Spartan tube, no Attic shell, No lyre Æolian I awake; ’Tis liberty’s bold note I swell, Thy harp, Columbia, let me take! See gathering thousands, while I…
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,
I hae seen the hairst o’ Rettie,… And twa—three aff the throne. I’ve heard o sax and seven weeks The hairsters girn and groan. But wi’ a covie Willie Rae
