#ScottishWriters
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,
WHERE, braving angry winter’s st… The lofty Ochils rise, Far in their shade my Peggy’s cha… First blest my wondering eyes; As one who by some savage stream
OF 1 a’ the airts the wind can bl… I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives, The lassie I lo’e best: There’s wild-woods grow, and river…
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.
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…
THERE lived a carl in Kellyburn… Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi’ t… And he had a wife was the plague o… And the thyme it is wither’d, and… Ae day as the carl gaed up the lan…
O HAD each Scot of ancient times Been, Jeanie Scott, as thou art; The bravest heart on English grou… Had yielded like a coward.
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,
HERE cursing, swearing Burton li… A buck, a beau, or “Dem my eyes!” Who in his life did little good, And his last words were “Dem my b…
The Author’s Only Pet Yowe An Unco Mournfu’ Tale As Mailie, an’ her lambs thegithe… Was ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,
Behind yon hills, where Lugar flo… 'Mang moors an’ mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos’d, And I’ll awa to Nannie, O. The westlin wind blaws loud and sh…
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and str… The wretch’s destinie! M’Pherson’s time will not be long On yonder gallows-tree. Chorus:
GANE is the day, and mirk’s the… But we’ll ne’er stray for faut o’… Gude ale and bratdy’s stars and mo… And blue-red wine’s the risin’ sun… Chorus.'Then gudewife, count th…
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:
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…