Quotes from Robert Burns

O Mary, at thy window be!It is the wish'd, the trysted hour.

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

The best laid schemes o' mice and menGang aft a-gley.

John Anderson my jo, John,When we were first acquent,Your locks were like the raven,Your bonie brow was brent;But now your brow is beld, John,Your locks are like the snaw,But blessings on your frosty pow,John Anderson my jo!

An atheist-laugh's a poor exchangeFor Deity offended.

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither—They had been fou for weeks thegither.

Man's inhumanity to man.Makes countless thousands mourn!

Now a' is done that men can do,And a' is done in vain.

It's guid to be merry and wise,It's guid to be honest and true,It's guid to support Caledonia's causeAnd bide by the buff and the blue.

As Tammie glow'red, amazed, and curious,The mirth and fun grew fast and furious.

From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur springs,That makes her loved at home, revered abroad:Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,"An honest man's the noblest work of God."

Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair.

An' there began a lang digressionAbout the lords o' the creation.

Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,Scots wham Bruce has aften led,Welcome to your gory bedOr to victorie.Now's the day, and now's the hour;See the front o' battle lour!See approach proud Edward's power—Chains and slaverie!

The rank is but the guinea's stamp,The man's the gowd for a' that.

The social, friendly, honest man,Whate'er he be,'Tis he fulfills great Nature's plan,And none but he!

He turn'd him right and round aboutUpon the Irish shore;And gae his bridle reins a shake,With adieu forevermore,My dear—And adieu forevermore!

A prince can mak a belted knight,A marquis, duke, and a' that;But an honest man's aboon his might,Guid faith, he mauna fa' that.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dearsHer noblest work she classes, O:Her prentice han' she tried on man,An' then she made the lasses, O.

She is a winsome wee thing,She is a handsome wee thing,She is a lo'esome wee thing,This sweet wee wife o' mine.

But pleasures are like poppies spread—You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;Or like the snow falls in the river—A moment white—then melts forever.

O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad.

"Weel done, Cutty Sark!"

John Barleycorn got up again,And sore surprised them all.