Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, And cozie1 here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till, crash! the cruel coulter past That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble To thole the winter's sleety dribble, But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, And lea'e us nought but grief and pain Still thou art blest, compared wi' me! And forward, though I canna see, 1 Comfortable. 2 Endure. 3 Hoar-frost. ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY TORMENTED BY My curse upon thy venom'd stang, Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, Like racking engines! When fevers burn, or ague freezes, But taee-thou hell o' a' diseases, Aye mocks our groan! Adown my beard the slavers trickle! Of a' the numerous human dools, s 4 Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, 1 The mirthful child- Sad sight to see! 2 Jump. 3 Troubles. 4 Harvests. Flax used to be cleaned and straightened by drawing it many times through a mass of sharp steel spikes fixed in a bench, points uppermost. This was called a heckle. The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools, Thou bear'st the grec. Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell O thou grim mischief-making chiel, In gore a shoe thick, Gie a' the faes o' Scotland weal A towmond's toothache! GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O! GREEN grow the rashes, O! Green grow the rashes, O! The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, There's nought but care on every han', The warl'ly race may riches chase, But gie me a canny1 hour at een, For you sae douce,3 ye sneer at this, Auld Nature swears the lovely dears AULD LANG SYNE. SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot And days o' lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet We twa hae run about the braes, But we've wander'd mony a weary foot, Sin' auld lang syne. 1 Happy, lucky-quiet. 2 Topsy-turvy. 3 Grave, We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, Frae morning sun till dine: But seas between us braid hae roar'd And here's a hand, my trusty fere,1 And gies a hand o' thine; And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught? For auld lung syne! And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, And surely I'll be mine; And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. The chorus of this song is old; but the two stanzas are Burns's CHORUS. Up in the morning's no for me, Up in the morning early; When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, I'm sure it's winter fairly. Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast, The birds sit chittering3 in the thorn, And lang's the night frae e'en to morn, 1 Friend. 2 Draught. 3 Shivering. |