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.

Liberty's in every blow! Let us do or die.

Suspense is worse than disappointment.

I love drinking now and then. It defecates the standing pool of thought. A man perpetually in the paroxysm and fears of inebriety is like a half-drowned stupid wretch condemned to labor unceasingly in water; but a now-and-then tribute to Bacchus is like the cold bath, bracing and invigorating.

The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley, And leave us nought but grief and pain, For promised joy.

Dweller in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation, mark! Who in widow weeds appears, Laden with unhonoured years, Noosing with care a bursting purse, Baited with many a deadly curse?

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.

We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free.

Even every ray of hope destroyed and not a wish to gild the gloom.

To make a happy fireside clime

To weans and wife,

That's the true pathos and sublime

Of human life.

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent.

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

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

Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desert were a paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there.

My dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!

I found that old Solomon proved it fair,
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care.

The upright, honest-hearted man Who strives to do the best he can, Need never fear the church's ban Or hell's damnation.

It is natural for a young fellow to like the acquaintance of females and customary for him to keep them company when occasion serves. Some one of them is more agreeable to him than the rest; there is something, he knows not what, pleases him, he knows not how, in her company. This I take to be what is called love with the greatest part of us.

Not the bee upon the blossom, In the pride o' sunny noon; Not the little sporting fairy, All beneath the simmer moon; Not the poet, in the moment Fancy lightens in his e'e, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gi'es to me.

Not the bee upon the blossom,
In the pride o' sunny noon;
Not the little sporting fairy,
All beneath the simmer moon;
Not the poet, in the moment
Fancy lightens in his e'e,
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,
That thy presence gi'es to me.