Quotes
Quotes - Burns
The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip
To haud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your honour grip,
Let that aye be your border.
An atheist's laugh's a poor exchange
For Deity offended!
And may you better reck the rede,
Than ever did the adviser!
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes;
Flow gently, I 'll sing thee a song in thy praise.
Oh whistle, and I 'll come to ye, my lad.
If naebody care for me,
I 'll care for naebody.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne?
We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine.
Dweller in yon dungeon dark,
Hangman of creation, mark!
Who in widow weeds appears,
Laden with unhonoured years,
Noosing with care a bursting purse,
Baited with many a deadly curse?
To make a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife,--
That is the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.
If there's a hole in a' your coats,
I rede ye tent it;
A chiel's amang ye takin' notes,
And, faith, he 'll prent it.
John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonny brow was brent.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.
She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonny wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o' mine.
The golden hours on angel wings
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
But, oh! fell death's untimely frost
That nipt my flower sae early.
It's guid to be merry and wise,
It's guid to be honest and true,
It's guid to support Caledonia's cause,
And bide by the buff and the blue.
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory!
Now's the day and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour.
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do or die.
In durance vile here must I wake and weep,
And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep.
Oh, my luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
Oh, my luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair.
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet
To think how monie counsels sweet,
How monie lengthened sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises.
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither,--
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
