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70

Tho' Mary's hand his nebb supplies,
Unkend to hunger's painfu' cries,
Ev'n beauty canna chear the heart
Frae life, frae liberty apart,
For now we tyne its wonted lay,
Sae lightsome sweet, sae blythely gay.

Thus Fortune aft a curse can gie,
To wyle us far frae liberty:
Then tent her syren smiles wha list,
I'll ne'er envy your girnal's grist;
For whan fair Freedom smiles nae mair,
Care I for life? Shame fa' the hair:
A field o’ergrown wi' rankest stubble,
The essence of a paltry bubble.

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1773.

JOHN SKINNER

TULLOCHGORUM

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Come gie's a sang! Montgomery cried,
And lay your disputes all aside;
What signifies 't for folk to chide

For what's been done before 'em?
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory,
Let Whig and Tory all agree

To drop their Whig-mig-morum!
Let Whig and Tory all agree
To spend the night in mirth and glee,
And cheerfu' sing, alang wi' me,

The reel o' Tullochgorum!

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0, Tullochgorum's my delight;
It gars us a' in ane unite;
And ony sumph' that keeps up spite,

In conscience I abhor him:
For blythe and cheery we's be a',
Blythe and cheery, blythe and cheery,
Blythe and cheery we's be a',

And mak a happy quorum;

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For blythe and cheery we's be a,'
As lang as we hae breath to draw,
And dance, till we be like to fa',

The reel o' Tullochgorum!
There needs na be sae great a phrase
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays
I wadna gi'e our ain strathspeys

For half a hundred score o' 'em:
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Douff and dowie, douff and dowie,
They're douff and dowie at the best,

Wi' a' their variorum;
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Their allegros and a' the rest;
They canna please a Scottish taste,

Compared wi' Tullochgorum.
Let warldly minds themselves oppress
Wi' fears of want and double cess,
And sullen sots themselves distress

Wi' keeping up decorum:
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit?
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky,
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,

Like auld Philosophorum?
Shall we so sour and sulky sit,
Wi neither sense nor mirth nor wit,
Nor ever rise to shake a fit

To the reel o' Tullochgorum?
May choicest blessings still attend
Each honest, open-hearted friend;
And calm and quiet be his end,

And a' that's good watch o'er him!
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Peace and plenty, peace and plenty,
May peace and plenty be his lot,

And dainties a great store o' 'em!
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Unstained by any vicious spot,
And may he never want a groat

That's fond of Tullochgorum!

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But for the dirty, yawning fool
Who wants to be Oppression's tool,
May envy gnaw his rotten soul,

And discontent devour him!
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow,
May dool and sorrow be his chance,

And nane say "wae's me" for him!
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
Wi' a' the ills that come frae France,
Whae'er he be, that winna dance
The reel o' Tullochgorum!

1776.

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ROBERT BURNS
A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH

O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause

Of all my hope and fear!
In Whose dread presence, ere an hour,

Perhaps I must appear!
If I have wandered in those paths

Of life I ought to shun,
As something loudly in my breast

Remonstrates I have done,

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Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me

With passions wild and strong,
And list’ning to their witching voice

Has often led me wrong.

Where human weakness has come short,

Or frailty stept aside,
Do Thou, All Good-for such Thou art,-

In shades of darkness hide.

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Where with intention I have erred,

No other plea I have
But, Thou art good; and Goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

1786.

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1781?

MY NANIE, O
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows,

'Mang moors an'mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has closed,

And I'll awa to Nanie, O.

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The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill,

The night's baith mirk and rainy, O;
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal,

An' owre the hill to Nanie, O.

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My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young;

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O:
May ill befa' the flattering tongue

That wad beguile my Nanie, O.

Her face is fair, her heart is true,

As spotless as she's bonie, O:
The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,

Nae purer is than Nanie, O.

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A country lad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me, 0;
But what care I how few they be?

I'm welcome ay to Nanie, O.

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My riches a's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie, 0;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,

My thoughts are a'-my Nanie, O.

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Our auld guidman delights to view

His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, 0;
But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,

An' has nae care but Nanie, O.

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Come weel, come woe, I care na by;

I'll tak what Heav'n will send me, O;
Nae ither care in life have I
But live an' love my Nanie, O.

1787.

1784.

MARY MORISON
O Mary, at thy window be;

It is the wished, the trysted hour !
Those smiles and glances let me see

That make the miser's treasure poor!
How blythely wad I bide the stoure,

A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,

The lovely Mary Morison.

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Yestreen, when to the trembling string

The dance gaed thro’ the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing;

I sat, but neither heard or saw:
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,

And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sighed, and said amang them a',

“Ye are na Mary Morison.”

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O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his

Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,

At least be pity to me shown!
A thought ungentle canna be

The thought o' Mary Morison.

17841

1800.

THE HOLY FAIR
Upon a simmer Sunday morn,

When Nature's face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn,

An' snuff the caller air.
The rising sun, owre Galston muirs,

Wi' glorious light was glintin;
The hares were hirplin down the furs,
The lav'rocks they were chantin

Fu' sweet that day.

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