Robert Burns

In durance vile here must I wake and weep, And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep.

If there's another world, he lives in bliss; If there is none, he made the best of this.

God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be.

Life is all a , We regard not how it goes; Let them cant about , Who have characters to lose.

A fig for those by law protected! 's a glorious feast! Courts for cowards were erected, Churches built to please the .

Partly wi' o'ercome sae sair, And partly she was drunk.

I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, And still my delight is in proper young men.

For a' that, and a' that An' twice as muckle 's a' that, I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', I've wife eneugh for a' that.

Ah, Tam! Ah! Tam! Thou'll get thy fairin! In hell they'll roast you like a herrin!

Tam tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out — "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"

Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie.

As Tammie glow'red, amazed, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!

That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane.

But pleasures are like poppies spread— You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river— A moment white—then melts forever.

Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious.

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither— They had been fou for weeks thegither.

The landlord's laugh was ready chorus.

The landlady and Tam grew gracious Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet To think how monie counsels sweet, How monie lengthened, sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!

Where sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North; The birth-place of valour, the country of worth.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

John Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw,