Poems and Songs

Even thou who mournst the daisies fate, that fate is thine.

In proving foresight may be vain: The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy!

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

A gaudy dress and gentle air May slightly touch the heart; But it's innocence and modesty That polishes the dart.

Dear Sir, I'll gie ye some advice, You'll tak it no uncivil: You shouldna paint at angels, man, But try and paint the Devil. To paint an angel's kittle wark, Wi' Nick there's little danger; You'll easy draw a lang-kent face, But no sae weel a stranger.

The best laid schemes o'mice an' men gang aft agley, An'lea'e us nought but grief an'pain, For promis'd joy...

Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea; No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he.

Even tho who mournst the daisies fate, that fate is thine.

Epitaph On John Dove, Innkeeper Here lies Johnie Pigeon; What was his religion? Whae'er desires to ken, To some other warl' Maun follow the carl, For here Johnie Pigeon had nane! Strong ale was ablution, Small beer persecution, A dram was memento mori; But a full-flowing bowl Was the saving his soul, And port was celestial glory.

Where sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

Should the poor be flattered?—Shakespeare.

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, Here firm I rest; they must be best, Because they are Thy will! Then all I want—O do Thou grant This one request of mine!— Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, Assist me to resign.

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip, To haud the wretch in order;

Ye'll try the world soon, my lad; And, Andrew dear, believe me, Ye'll find mankind an unco squad,

O wad some Power the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us!

Fickle Fortune: A Fragment Though fickle Fortune has deceived me, She pormis'd fair and perform'd but ill; Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me, Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. I'll act with prudence as far 's I'm able, But if success I must never find, Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome, I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind.