The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough; The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush:...
Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, That Scot to Scot did carry; And dire the discord Langside saw, For beauteous, hapless Mary: But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot,...
Whom will you send to London town, To Parliament and a' that? Or wha in a' the country round The best deserves to fa' that? For a' that, and a' that; Thro Galloway and a' that;...
Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, For there will be bickerin' there; For Murray's[1] light horse are to muster, And O, how the heroes will swear! An' there will be Murray commander,...
My Lord, I know your noble ear Woe ne'er assails in vain; Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear Your humble slave complain, How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams In flaming summer-pride,...