HERE Brewer Gabriel’s fire’s ex… And empty all his barrels: He’s blest—if, as he brew’d, he dr… In upright, honest morals.

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…

HERE’S to thy health, my bonie l… Gude nicht and joy be wi’ thee; I’ll come nae mair to thy bower-do… To tell thee that I lo’e thee. O dinna think, my pretty pink,

LORD ADVOCATEHE clenched hi… He quoted and he hinted, Till, in a declamation-mist, His argument he tint it: He gapèd for’t, he grapèd for’t,

THE FRIEND whom, wild from Wi… The fumes of wine infuriate send, (Not moony madness more astray) Who but deplores that hapless frie… Mine was th’ insensate frenzied pa…

NOW Nature hangs her mantle gree… On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o’ daisies… Out o’er the grassy lea; Now Phoebus cheers the crystal st…

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,

O Merry hae I been teethin’ a hec… An’ merry hae I been shapin’ a sp… O merry hae I been cloutin’ a ket… An’ kissin’ my Katie when a’ was… O a’ the lang day I ca’ at my ham…

Amang the trees, where humming bee… At buds and flowers were hinging,… Auld Caledon drew out her drone, And to her pipe was singing, O: 'Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys…

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…

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—

Humid seal of soft affections, Tend’rest pledge of future bliss, Dearest tie of young connections, Love’s first snow—drop, virgin kis… Speaking silence, dumb confession,

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…

EARTH’D up, here lies an imp o’… Planted by Satan’s dibble; Poor silly wretch, he’s damned him… To save the Lord the trouble.

Oh wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter the… Or did misfortune’s bitter storms