O THOU, in whom we live and move… Who made the sea and shore; Thy goodness constantly we prove, And grateful would adore; And, if it please Thee, Power abo…

THERE’S Death in the cup, so be… Nay, more—there is danger in touch… But who can avoid the fell snare, The man and his wine’s so bewitchi…

O May thy morn was ne’er sae swee… As the mirk night o’ December; For sparkling was the rosy wine, And private was the chamber: And dear was she, I dare na name,

MY father was a farmer upon the C… And carefully he bred me in decenc… He bade me act a manly part, thoug… For without an honest manly heart,… Then out into the world my course…

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…

THERE was a wife wonn’d in Cock… Scroggam; She brew’d gude ale for gentlemen; Sing auld Cowl lay ye down by me, Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum.

EARTH’D up, here lies an imp o’… Planted by Satan’s dibble; Poor silly wretch, he’s damned him… To save the Lord the trouble.

Chorus.'€”MY lady’s gown, there’s… And gowden flowers sae rare upon’t… But Jenny’s jimps and jirkinet, My lord thinks meikle mair upon’t. My lord a-hunting he is gone,

I CALL no Goddess to inspire my… A fabled Muse may suit a bard tha… Friend of my life! my ardent spiri… And all the tribute of my heart re… For boons accorded, goodness ever…

HERE Souter Hood in death does… To hell if he’s gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep; He’ll haud it weel thegither.

Though cruel Fate should bid us p… Far as the Pole and Line, Her dear idea round my heart Should tenderly entwine: Though mountains rise, and deserts…

O lady Mary Ann looks o’er the C… She saw three bonie boys playing a… The youngest he was the flower ama… My bonie laddie’s young, but he’s… O father, O father, an ye think i…

FINTRY, my stay in wordly strif… Friend o’ my muse, friend o’ my li… Are ye as idle’s I am? Come then, wi’ uncouth kintra fleg… O’er Pegasus I’ll fling my leg,

Where Cart rins rowin to the sea, By mony a flower and spreading tre… There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant Weaver. Oh I had wooers aught or nine,

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…