The rose upon the breir will be him trews an’ doublet,
The rose upon the breir will be him trews an’ doublet,
Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet,
Twice a lily-flower will be him sark and cravat;
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet,
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.
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I am nae poet, in a sense,
An’ hae to learning nae pretence;Yet what the matter?Whene’er my Muse does on me glance,I jingle at her.Your critic-folk may cock their nose,And say, ‘How can you e’er propose,You wha ken hardly verse frae prose,To mak a sang?’But, by your leave, my learned foes,Ye’re maybe wrang.What’s a’ your jargon o’ your schools,Your Latin names for…
OF Lordly acquaintance you boast,
Yet an insect’s an insect at most,Tho’ it crawl on the curl of a Queen!
THE SIMPLE Bard, rough at the rustic plough,
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush;The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill,Or deep-ton’d plovers grey, wild-whistling o’er the hill;Shall he—nurst in the peasant’s lowly shed,To hardy independence bravely bred,By early poverty to hardship steel’d.And train’d to arms in stern Misfortune’s field—Shall he be guilty of…
Tune – ‘The Braes o’ Balquhidder.’
And I’ll kiss thee o’er again:And I’ll kiss thee yet, yet,My bonie Peggy Alison.Ilk care and fear, when thou art nearI evermair defy them, O!Young kings upon their hansel throneAre no sae blest as I am, O!And I’ll kiss thee yet, yet, &c.When in my arms, wi’ a’ thy charms,I clasp my countless treasure, O!I…
HEE balou, my sweet wee Donald,
Brawlie kens our wanton ChiefWha gat my young Highland thief.Leeze me on thy bonie craigie,An’ thou live, thou’ll steal a naigie,Travel the country thro’ and thro’,And bring hame a Carlisle cow.Thro’ the Lawlands, o’er the Border,Weel, my babie, may thou furder!Herry the louns o’ the laigh Countrie,Syne to the Highlands hame to me.
In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men,
But ken ye the Ronalds that live in the Bennals,They carry the gree frae them a’, man.Their father’s laird, and weel he can spare’t,Braid money to tocher them a’, man;To proper young men, he’ll clink in the handGowd guineas a hunder or twa, man.There’s ane they ca’ Jean, I’ll warrant ye’ve seenAs bonie a lass…
The rose upon the breir will be him trews an’ doublet,
The rose upon the breir will be him trews an’ doublet,
Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet,
Twice a lily-flower will be him sark and cravat;
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet,
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.
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O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab?
She’s down in the yard, she’s kissin the laird,She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab.O come thy ways to me, my Eppie Macnab;O come thy ways to me, my Eppie Macnab;Whate’er thou hast dune, be it late, be it sune,Thou’s welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab.What says she, my dearie, my Eppie…
O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,Thy soothing fond complaining.Again, again that tender part,That I may catch thy melting art,For surely that wad touch her heart,Wha kills me wi’ disdaining.Say, was thy little mate unkind,And heard thee as the careless wind?Oh, nocht but lobve and sorrow join’d,Sic notes o’ woe could wauken.Thou tells o’ never-ending care;O’…
WHILE winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw,
An’ hing us owre the ingle,I set me down to pass the time,An’ spin a verse or twa o’ rhyme,In hamely, westlin jingle.While frosty winds blaw in the drift,Ben to the chimla lug,I grudge a wee the great-folk’s gift,That live sae bien an’ snug:I tent less, and want lessTheir roomy fire-side;But hanker, and canker,To see…
HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,Tell me thou bring’st me my Willie the same.Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e’e,Welcome nowhSimmer, and welcome, my Willie,The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me!Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers,How your dread…
WHILE new-ca’d kye rowte at the stake
This hour on e’enin’s edge I take,To own I’m debtorTo honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,For his kind letter.Forjesket sair, with weary legs,Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs,Or dealing thro’ amang the naigsTheir ten-hours’ bite,My awkart Muse sair pleads and begsI would na write.The tapetless, ramfeezl’d hizzie,She’s saft at best an’ something lazy:Quo’ she, ‘Ye ken we’ve been…
WHEN first I came to Stewart Kyle,
Where’er I gaed, where’er I rade,A mistress still I had aye.But when I came roun’ by Mauchline toun,Not dreadin anybody,My heart was caught, before I thought,And by a Mauchline lady.