I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, 25 And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remove; And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. DUNCAN GRAY Duncan Gray cam here to woo (Ha, ha, the wooing o't!), On blythe Yule Night when we were fou (Ha, ha, the wooing o't!). 1798. 5 ΤΟ 15 20 1792. HIGHLAND MARY Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie! There Summer first unfald her robes, And there the langest tarry! For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. 5 How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, ΙΟ As, underneath their fragrant shade, I clasped her to my bosom! 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. Wi' monie a vow and locked embrace, And, pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder. But O fell Death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early! Now green's the sod and cauld's the clay O pale, pale now those rosy lips I aft hae kissed sae fondly! And closed for ay the sparkling glance And mouldering now in silent dust That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within my bosom's core SCOTS WHA HAE Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 1799. 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' a' that: The man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, For a' that an' a' that, Their tinsel show, an' a' that: Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord, Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; His ribband, star, an' a' that: He looks an' laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a' that, But an honest man's aboon his might; Guid faith, he mauna fa' that! For a' that an' a' that, Their dignities, an' a' that: The pith o' sense an' pride o' worth CONTENTED WI' LITTLE Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, 40 1795. Wi' a cog o' guid swats and an auld Scottish sang. I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought: But man is a soger, and life is a faught; My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch daur touch. 5 |