THO’ cruel fate should bid us par… Far as the pole and line, Her dear idea round my heart, Should tenderly entwine. Tho’ mountains, rise, and deserts…

LORD, we thank, and thee adore, For temporal gifts we little merit… At present we will ask no more’€” Let William Hislop give the spiri…

Amang the trees, where humming bee… At buds and flowers were hinging,… Auld Caledon drew out her drone, And to her pipe was singing, O: 'Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys…

WHILE new-ca’d kye rowte at the… An’ pownies reek in pleugh or brai… This hour on e’enin’s edge I take… To own I’m debtor To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,

Scots, what 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;

NOW westlin winds and slaught’rin… Bring Autumn’s pleasant weather; The moorcock springs on whirring w… Amang the blooming heather: Now waving grain, wide o’er the pl…

O DEATH, had’st thou but spar’d… Whom we this day lament, We freely wad exchanged the wife, And a’ been weel content. Ev’n as he is, cauld in his graff,

Let other poets raise a fracas Bout vines, and wines, an drucken… An crabbit names an stories wrack… An grate our lug: I sing the juice Scotch bear can…

Nae lark in transport mounts the s… Or leaves wi’ early plaintive cry, But I will bid a last good—bye, My last farewell to Stirling O. Chorus:

FRAE the friends and land I love… Driv’n by Fortune’s felly spite; Frae my best belov’d I rove, Never mair to taste delight: Never mair maun hope to find

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…

How can I keep my maidenhead, My maidenhead, my maidenhead; How can I keep my maidenhead, Among sae mony men, O. The Captain bad a guinea for’t,

HER flowing locks, the raven’s wi… Adown her neck and bosom hing; How sweet unto that breast to clin… And round that neck entwine her! Her lips are roses wat wi’ dew,

HERE lies a mock Marquis, whose… If ever he rise, it will be to be…

WAE worth thy power, thou cursed… Fell source o’ a’ my woe and grief… For lack o’ thee I’ve lost my las… For lack o’ thee I scrimp my glas… I see the children of affliction