Guid speed and furderto you, Johnie, Guidhealth, halehan's, an' weather bonie; Now, when ye're nickin down fu'cannie The staff o' bread, May ye ne'er want a stoup o'bran'y To clear your head. May Boreas never thresh your rigs, Nor kick your ricklesafftheir legs, Sendin the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs Like drivin wrack; But may
Tho' cruel fate should bidus part, Far as the pole and line, Her dear idea round my heart, Should tenderly entwine. Tho' mountains, rise, and deserts howl, And oceans roar between; Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, I still would love my Jean.
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need nastart awasaehasty, Wi' bickeringbrattle! I wadbe laithto rinan' chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle! I'm truly sorry man's dominion, Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal! I
Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass, Her blush is like the morning, The rosy dawn, the springing grass, With early gems adorning. Her eyes outshine the radiant beams That gild the passing shower, And glitter o'er the crystal streams, And cheer each fresh'ning flower. Her lips, more than the cherries bright, A richer dye has
Upon that night, when fairies light On Cassilis Downans^2dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprightly coursers prance; Or for Colean the rout is ta'en, Beneath the moon's pale beams; There, up the Cove,^3to stray an' rove, Amang the rocks and streams To sport that night; Amang the bonie winding banks, Where Doon
Gude pity me, because I'm little! For though I am anelf o' mettle, An' can, like ony wabster's shuttle, Jinkthere orhere, Yet, scarce as lang's a gude kail-whittle, I'm uncoqueer. An' now Thou kens our waefu' case; For Geordie's jurrwe're in disgrace, Because we stang'd her through the place, An' hurt her spleuchan; For whilk
O Thou! whatever title suit thee- Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, Whain yon cavern grim an' sootie, Clos'd under hatches, Spairges about the brunstanecootie, 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 skelpan' scaudpoor
Now Robin lies in his last lair, He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair; Cauldpoverty, wi' hungry stare, Naemair shall fear him; Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care, E'er maircome near him. To tell the truth, they seldom fash'dhim, Except the moment that they crush'd him; For suneas chance or fate had hush'd 'em Tho'
January While winds frae affBen-Lomond blaw, An' bar the doors wi' driving snaw, An' hingus owre the ingle, I setme down to pass the time, An' spin a verse or twao' rhyme, In hamely, westlinjingle. While frosty winds blawin the drift, Bento the chimlalug, I grudge a weethe great-folk's gift, That live saebienan' snug: I