Scots, wha hae wi Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed Or to victorie! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour:

Instead of a song, boys, I’ll giv… Here’s the memory of those on the… That we lost, did I say, nay, by… For their fame it shall last while… The next in succession, I’ll give…

Green grow the rashes, O! Green grow the rashes, O! The sweetest hours that e’er I sp… Are spent amang the lasses, O! There’s nought but care on every h…

WHILE winds frae aff Ben-Lomond… An’ bar the doors wi’ driving snaw… An’ hing us owre the ingle, I set me down to pass the time, An’ spin a verse or twa o’ rhyme,

Ye banks and braes o’ bonie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fai… How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu’ o’ care! Thou’ll break my heart, thou warbl…

WHILE briers an’ woodbines buddi… An’ paitricks scraichin loud at e’… An’ morning poussie whiddin seen, Inspire my muse, This freedom, in an unknown frien’…

WE cam na here to view your warks… In hopes to be mair wise, But only, lest we gang to hell, It may be nae surprise: But when we tirl’d at your door

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, The spot they ca’d it Linkumdoddi… Willie was a wabster guid Could stown a clue wi onie body. He had a wife was dour and din,

LET not Woman e’er complain Of inconstancy in love; Let not Woman e’er complain Fickle Man is apt to rove: Look abroad thro’ Nature’s range,

On a bank of flowers in a summer d… For summer lightly drest, The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep opprest; When Willie, wand’ring thro the w…

Expect na, sir, in this narration, A fleechin, fleth’rin Dedication, To roose you up, an’ ca’ you guid, An’ sprung o’ great an’ noble blui… Because ye’re surnam’d like His G…

On a bank of flowers, in a summer… For summer lightly drest, The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep opprest; When Willie, wand’ring thro’ the…

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…

I lang hae thought, my youthfu’ fr… A something to have sent you, Tho’ it should serve nae ither end Than just a kind momento: But how the subject—theme may gang…

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,