‘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 morn, The sun raise clear an’ bright; But oh!
WHEN chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet; As market days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate, While we sit bousing at the nappy, An’ getting fou
Chorus-O gude ale comes and gude ale goes; Gude ale gars me sell my hose, Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon- Gude ale keeps my heart aboon! I HAD sax owsen in a
CURS’D be the man, the poorest wretch in life, The crouching vassal to a tyrant wife! Who has no will but by her high permission, Who has not sixpence but in her possession; Who
O WHY the deuce should I repine, And be an ill foreboder? I’m twenty-three, and five feet nine, I’ll go and be a sodger! I gat some gear wi’ mickle care, I held it
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, Nature’s mighty Law is change, Ladies, would it not
NOW rosy May comes in wi’ flowers, To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers; And now comes in the happy hours, To wander wi’ my Davie. Chorus.-Meet me on the warlock knowe, Dainty Davie, Dainty
NOW, Kennedy, if foot or horse E’er bring you in by Mauchlin corse, (Lord, man, there’s lasses there wad force A hermit’s fancy; An’ down the gate in faith they’re worse, An’ mair unchancy).
IN simmer, when the hay was mawn, And corn wav’d green in ilka field, While claver blooms white o’er the lea And roses blaw in ilka beild! Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel, Says-“I’ll
IS there a whim-inspirèd fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, Let him draw near; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap
O LORD, when hunger pinches sore, Do thou stand us in stead, And send us, from thy bounteous store, A tup or wether head! Amen. O Lord, since we have feasted thus, Which we
WHEN Januar’ wind was blawing cauld, As to the north I took my way, The mirksome night did me enfauld, I knew na where to lodge till day: By my gude luck a maid
THOU’S 1 welcome, wean; mishanter fa’ me, If thoughts o’ thee, or yet thy mamie, Shall ever daunton me or awe me, My bonie lady, Or if I blush when thou shalt ca’ me
ADIEU! a heart-warm fond adieu; Dear brothers of the mystic tie! Ye favourèd, enlighten’d few, Companions of my social joy; Tho’ I to foreign lands must hie, Pursuing Fortune’s slidd’ry ba’; With melting heart,
WHEN Princes and Prelates, And hot-headed zealots, A’ Europe had set in a low, a low, The poor man lies down, Nor envies a crown, And comforts himself as he dow, as he dow,