Is there for honest Poverty That hings his head, an’ a’ that; The coward slave-we pass him by, We dare be poor for a’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that. Our toils obscure an’...

The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley.

My heart is sair-I dare na tell,My heart is sair for Somebody.

There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing.

Had we never lov’d sae kindly,Had we never lov’d sae blindly,Never met — or never parted –we had ne’er been broken-hearted

But deep this truth impress’d my mind: Thro’ all His works abroad,The heart benevolent and kindThe most resembles God.

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

My love is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June: My love is like the melody That’s sweetly played in tune. How fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love...

O, wad some Power the giftie gie usTo see oursels as others see us!It wad frae monie a blunder free us,An’ foolish notion.

Some hae meat and canna eat,And some wad eat that want it,But we hae meat and we can eat,And sae the Lord be thankit.

All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,Led yellow Autumn, wreath’d with nodding corn.”[Brigs of Ayr]

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie,O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!

Critics! Appalled I ventured on the name.Those cutthroat bandits in the paths of fame.

Flow gently, sweet Afton,amang thy green braes,Flow gently, I’ll sing theea song in thy praise;My Mary’s asleepby thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton,disturb not her dream.Thou stock dove whose echoresounds thro’ the glen,Ye wild whistly...

The fear o’ hell’s a hangman’s whip to haud the wretch in order; But where ye feel your honor grip, let that aye be your border.

While Europe’s eye is fix’d on mighty things,The fate of empires and the fall of kings;While quacks of State must each produce his plan,And even children lisp the Rights of Man;Amid this mighty fuss just...

Some books are lies frae end to end,And some great lies were never penn’d…

Gin a body meet a bodyComing thro’ the rye,Gin a body kiss a body— Need a body cry?

I found that old Solomon proved it fair, That a big-belly’d bottle’s a cure for all care.

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.