184 quotes
I was na fou, but just had plenty.
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
To a Haggis (1787)
We labour soon, we labour late,
To feed the titled knave, man;
And a' the comfort we're to get,
Is that ayont the grave, man.
The Tree of Liberty (1838)
O Death! the poor man's dearest friend,
The kindest and the best!
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
O what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!
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.
Some have meat and cannot eat,
Some cannot eat that want it:
But we have meat and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.
The Kirkudbright Grace (1790)
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.
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.<!--
The Selkirk Grace (1793)
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.
Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire,
That's a' the learning I desire.
An Atheist's laugh's a poor exchange
For Deity offended!
Suspense is worse than disappointment.
There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels,
There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man,
But the ae best dance ere came to the Land
Was, the deil's awa wi' the Exciseman.
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.
Johnson's The Scots Musical Museum (1787)
Ah, Tam! Ah! Tam! Thou'll get thy fairin!
In hell they'll roast you like a herrin!
Tam o' Shanter (1790)
Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O.
When chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare.
A fig for those by law protected! Liberty's a glorious feast!
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest.
Posthumous Pieces (1799)
Five scimitars, wi’ murder crusted