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A U L D B R I G aerial band aith Amang auld Bard beſt bleſt bonie braw breaſt Brig canna canty Charlie Fox cloſe countra Cuifs curchie curſed curſt Deil e'er ev'ry Ev’n ev’ry faſt firſt frae glaſs guid hame heart himſel honeſt Hornbook houſe ither juſt Laigh Kirk laſſes laſt leſs loſt Mailie dead Maſter maun monie muckle Muſe muſt mutchkin N E W B R I Nae mair ne'er night o'er out-owre owre pleaſure poor pow'r preſent raiſe rhyme riſe ruſtic ſae ſaid ſang ſaw ſay Scotland ſeaſon ſee ſend ſenſe ſet ſhall ſhe ſhould ſkill ſocial ſome day ſon ſoul ſpak ſtill ſtrains ſtream ſtrings ſtrong ſure ſweet T H E taſte tell thee There’s thoſe Thou thrang thro truſt unco vex'd weel whare Whiſky Whyles ye're
Página 47 - Leeze me on Drink ! it gi'es us mair Than either School or College : It kindles Wit, it waukens Lair, It pangs us fou o
Página 217 - It's no in making muckle, mair : It's no in books, it's no in lear, To make us truly blest : If happiness hae not her seat And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest : Nae treasures, nor pleasures, Could make us happy lang ; The heart ay's the part ay, That makes us right or wrang. Think ye, that sic as you and I, Wha drudge and drive thro...
Página 34 - To stan" or rin, Till skelp — a shot — they're aff, a' throw'ther, To save their skin. But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, Say, such is royal George's will, An' there's the foe, He has nae thought but how to kill Twa at a blow.
Página 159 - Gies now and then a wallop, What ragings must his veins convulse That still eternal gallop: Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, Right on ye scud your sea-way; But in the teeth o' baith to sail, It maks an unco leeway.
Página 191 - Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, As thro' the glen it wimpl't; Whyles round a rocky scar it strays; Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't; Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, Wi' bickerin, dancin dazzle ; Whyles cookit underneath the braes, Below the spreading hazel, Unseen that night.
Página 161 - tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord — its various tone, Each spring — its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Página 106 - An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, Some luckless hour will send him linkin, To your black pit ; But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin, An
Página 100 - To scaud poor wretches! Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, An' let poor damned bodies be; I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, Ev'n to a deil, To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, An' hear us squeel! Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame; Far kend an' noted is thy name; An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame, Thou travels far; An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, Nor blate nor scaur. Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion For prey, a...
Página 231 - Too justly I may fear! Still caring, despairing, Must be my bitter doom; My woes here shall close ne'er But with the closing tomb!