DEAR SIR, at ony time or tide, I’d rather sit wi’ you than ride, Though 'twere wi’ royal Geordie: And trowth, your kindness, soon an… Aft gars me to mysel’ look blate—

Chorus:—Bonie wee thing, cannie w… Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel it should tine. Wishfully I look and languish

’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…

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…

Ah, woe is me, my mother dear! A man of strife ye’ve born me: For sair contention I maun bear; They hate, revile, and scorn me. I ne’er could lend on bill or band…

Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o’ daises w… Out o’er the grassy lea Now Pheebus cheers the crystal st…

Ye gallants bright, I rede you ri… Beware o’ bonie Ann; Her comely face sae fu’ o’ grace, Your heart she will trepan: Her een sae bright, like stars by…

‘Wha is that at my bower—door?’ ‘O wha is it but Findlay!’ 'Then gae your gate, ye’se nae be… ‘Indeed maun I,’ quo’ Findlay; 'What mak’ ye, sae like a thief?'

MY Sandy gied to me a ring, Was a’ beset wi’ diamonds fine; But I gied him a far better thing… I gied my heart in pledge o’ his r… Chorus.—My Sandy O, my Sandy O,

Guid—Mornin’ to our Majesty! May Heaven augment your blisses On ev’ry new birth—day ye see, A humble poet wishes. My bardship here, at your Levee

THINE be the volumes, Jessy fai… And with them take the Poet’s pra… That Fate may, in her fairest pag… With ev’ry kindliest, best presage Of future bliss, enroll thy name:

’Twas on a Monday morning, Right early in the year, That Charlie came to our town, The young Chevalier. An’ Charlie, he’s my darling,

O how shall I, unskilfu’, try The Poet’s occupation? The tunefu’ powers, in happy hours… That whisper, inspiration, Even they maun dare an effort mair

KEMBLE, thou cur’st my unbelief For Moses and his rod; At Yarico’s sweet nor of grief The rock with tears had flow’d.

O THOU Great Being! what Thou… Surpasses me to know; Yet sure I am, that known to Thee Are all Thy works below. Thy creature here before Thee sta…