Oppress’d with grief, oppress’d wi… A burden more than I can bear, I set me down and sigh: O life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road,

Nae gentle dames, tho’ e’er sae fa… Shall ever be my muse’s care; Their titles a’ are empty show; Gie me my Highland Lassie, O. Within the glen sae bushy, O,

’Twas in the seventeen hunder year O’ grace, and ninety-five, That year I was the wae’est man Of ony man alive. In March the three-an’-twentieth…

LORD, we thank, and thee adore, For temporal gifts we little merit… At present we will ask no more— Let William Hislop give the spiri…

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,

Air—“Deil tak the wars.” Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion Round the wealthy, titled bride: But when compar’d with real passio… Poor is all that princely pride.

How can I keep my maidenhead, My maidenhead, my maidenhead; How can I keep my maidenhead, Among sae mony men, O. The Captain bad a guinea for’t,

SHREWD Willie Smellie to Croch… The old cock’d hat, the grey surto… His bristling beard just rising in… 'Twas four long nights and days to… His uncomb’d grizzly locks, wild s…

Here lies John Bushby—honest man, Cheat him, Devil—if you can!

Yestreen I had a pint o’ wine, A place where body saw na; Yestreen lay on this breast o’ min… The gowden locks of Anna. The hungry Jew in wilderness

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…

Wae is my heart, and the tear’s in… Lang lang Joy’s been a stranger t… Forsaken and friendless, my burden… And the sweet voice o’ Pity ne’er… Love thou hast pleasures, and deep…

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…

On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells… Could I describe her shape and mi… Our lasses a’ she far excels—— An she has twa sparkling, rogueish… She’s sweeter than the morning daw…

Is there for honest poverty That hangs his head, an’ a’ that? The coward slave, we pass him by We dare be poor for a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that,