Quotes from Robert Burns

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash; Some rhyme, (vain thought!) for needfu' cash; Some rhyme to court the countra clash, An' raise a din; For me, an aim I never fash; I rhyme for fun.

There's ither poets, much your betters, Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, A' future ages; Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, Their unknown pages.

Man is a soldier and life must be fought.

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.

Beware o' Bonie Ann (Song) YE gallants bright, I rede you right, Beware o' bonie Ann; Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, Your heart she will trepan: Her een sae bright, like stars by night,   5 Her skin sae like the swan; Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist, That sweetly ye might span.

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

Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, alas, forever!

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

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

To make a happy fireside clime To weans and wife, That's the true pathos and sublime Of human life.

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.

If there's another world, he lives in bliss; if there is none, he made the best of this.

The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.

Firmness in enduring and exertion is a character I always wish to possess. I have always despised the whining yelp of complaint and cowardly resolve.

The appellation of a Scottish Bard is by far my highest pride; to continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambition.

O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I!

Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious.

There is nothing in the whole frame of man which seems to me so unaccountable as that thing called conscience.

See Social-life and Glee sit down, All joyous and unthinking, Till, quite transmugrified, they're grown Debauchery and Drinking

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, That's a' the learning I desire.

Such is the fate of simple Bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd

His locked, lettered, braw brass collar, Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.

Critics! Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame.