#ScottishWriters
GUDEWIFE, I MIND it weel in… When I was bardless, young, and b… An’ first could thresh the barn, Or haud a yokin’ at the pleugh; An, tho’ forfoughten sair eneugh,
Again rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues, Her leafy looks wave in the breeze… All freshly steep’d in morning dew… And maun I still on Menie doat,
O Thou dread Power, who reign’st… I know thou wilt me hear, When for this scene of peace and l… I make this prayer sincere. The hoary Sire —the mortal stroke…
Inscribed to Robert Aiken, Esq. 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…
AE day, as Death, that gruesome c… Was driving to the tither warl’ A mixtie-maxtie motley squad, And mony a guilt-bespotted lad— Black gowns of each denomination,
On Seeing One on a Lady’s Bonnet… Ha! whare ye gaun’ ye crowlin ferl… Your impudence protects you sairly… I canna say but ye strunt rarely Owre gauze and lace,
When chapman billies leave the str… And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market—days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousin, at the nappy,
THAT there is a falsehood in his… I must and will deny: They tell their Master is a knave… And sure they do not lie.
HAD I a cave on some wild distan… Where the winds howl to the wave’s… There would I weep my woes, There seek my lost repose, Till grief my eyes should close,
'TWAS in the seventeen hunder ye… O’ grace, and ninety-five, That year I was the wae’est man Of ony man alive. In March the three-an’-twentieth…
Dear Sir, I’ll gie ye some advice… You’ll tak it no uncivil: You shouldna paint at angels mair, But try and paint the devil. To paint an Angel’s kittle wark,
BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill, As the lambs before me; Careless ilka thought and free, As the breeze flew o’er me; Now nae langer sport and play,
Ye flowery banks o’ bonnie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu’ o’ care? Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonie…
YE sons of old Killie, assembled… To follow the noble vocation; Your thrifty old mother has scarce… To sit in that honoured station. I’ve little to say, but only to pr…
A’ YE wha live by sowps o’ drink, A’ ye wha live by crambo-clink, A’ ye wha live and never think, Come, mourn wi’ me! Our billie 's gien us a’ a jink,