#ScottishWriters
Inscribed to Robert Aiken, Es… Let not Ambition mock their usefu… Their homely joys and destiny obsc… Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainf… The short and simple annals of the…
WHAT needs this din about the to… How this new play an’ that new san… Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle… Does nonsense mend, like brandy, w… Is there nae poet, burning keen fo…
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…
WHY am I loth to leave this eart… Have I so found it full of pleasi… Some drops of joy with draughts of… Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renew… Is it departing pangs my soul alar…
Sweet fa’s the eve on Craigieburn… And blythe awakens the morrow, But a’ the pride o’ spring’s retur… Can yield me nocht but sorrow. I see the flowers and spreading tr…
O Poortith cauld, and restless lo… Ye wrack my peace between ye; Yet poortith a’ I could forgive An ’twere na for my Jeanie. O why should Fate sic pleasure ha…
'TIS Friendship’s pledge, my you… Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend The moralising Muse. Since thou, in all thy youth and c…
Altho’ my bed were in yon muir, Amang the heather, in my plaidie, Yet happy, happy would I be Had I my dear Montgomerie’s Pegg… When o’er the hill beat surly stor…
O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Ran… The wale o’ cocks for fun an’ drin… There’s mony godly folks are think… Your dreams and tricks Will send you, Korah-like, a-sink…
Tune - “Galla Water.” Altho’ my bed were in yon muir, Amang the heather, in my plaidie; Yet happy, happy would I be, Had I my dear Montgomerie’s Pegg…
Is there for honesty poverty That hings 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,
'Husband, husband, cease your stri… Nor longer idly rave, Sir; Tho’ I am your wedded wife Yet I am not your slave, Sir.' ‘One of two must still obey,
HONEST 1 Will to Heaven’s away And mony shall lament him; His fau’ts they a’ in Latin lay, In English nane e’er kent them.
THERE’S news, lassies, news, Gude news I’ve to tell! There’s a boatfu’ o’ lads Come to our town to sell. Chorus.—The wean wants a cradle,
Wha will buy my Troggin, fine Election Ware; Broken trade o’ Broughton A’ in high repair? Buy braw Troggin,
