To tell the truth and shame the deil,
I am as fou as Bartie:
But Foorsday, sir, my promise leal,
Expect me o’ your partie,
If on a beastie I can speel,
Or hurl in a cartie.
YOURS,ROBERT BURNS.MAUCHLIN, Monday night, 10 o’clock.
Similar Posts
There’s nane that’s blest of human kind,
Fal, la, la, &c.Here’s a bottle and an honest friend!What wad ye wish for mair, man?Wha kens, before his life may end,What his share may be o’ care, man?Then catch the moments as they fly,And use them as ye ought, man:Believe me, happiness is shy,And comes not aye when sought, man.
IN Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles,
Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess,In Lon’on or Paris, they’d gotten it a’.Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland’s divine,Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw:There’s beauty and fortune to get wi’ Miss Morton,But Armour’s the jewel for me o’ them a’.
THERE was a wife wonn’d in Cockpen,
She brew’d gude ale for gentlemen;Sing auld Cowl lay ye down by me,Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum.The gudewife’s dochter fell in a fever,Scroggam;The priest o’ the parish he fell in anither;Sing auld Cowl lay ye down by me,Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum.They laid the twa i’ the bed thegither,Scroggam;That the heat o’ the tane might cool the…
Ah, woe is me, my mother dear!
For sair contention I maun bear;They hate, revile, and scorn me.I ne’er could lend on bill or band,That five per cent. might blest me;And borrowing, on the tither hand,The deil a ane wad trust me.Yet I, a coin-denied wight,By Fortune quite discarded;Ye see how I am, day and night,By lad and lass blackguarded!
Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,
Sae loud shrill`s I hear the blast,I`m sure it`s winters fairly.CHORUS:Up in the morning`s no for me,Up in the mornings early;When a` the hills are cover`d wi` snaw,I`m sure it`s winter fairly.The birds sit chittering on the the thorn,A` day they fare but sparely;And lang`s the night frae e`en to morn,I`m sure it`s winter fairly.CHORUS:…
O HOW shall I, unskilfu’, try
The tunefu’ powers, in happy hours,That whisper inspiration;Even they maun dare an effort mairThan aught they ever gave us,Ere they rehearse, in equal verse,The charms o’ lovely Davies.Each eye it cheers when she appears,Like Phoebus in the morning,When past the shower, and every flowerThe garden is adorning:As the wretch looks o’er Siberia’s shore,When winter-bound the…