Robert Burns Poetry

Whistle, And I’ll Come To You, My Lad Poem Robert Burns Chorus.—O Whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad, O whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad, Tho’ father an’ mother an’ a’ should gae mad, O whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad. But warily tent when ye come to court […]

Robert Burns – Love In The Guise Of Friendship Poem Your friendship much can make me blest, O why that bliss destroy! Why urge the only, one request You know I will deny! Your thought, if Love must harbour there, Conceal it in that thought; Nor cause me from my bosom tear The very friend […]

The Libeller’s Self-Reproof Robert Burns Poetry Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name Shall no longer appear in the records of Fame; Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible, Says, the more ’tis a truth, sir, the more ’tis a libel!

Scroggam, My Dearie Poetry There was a wife wonn’d in Cockpen, Scroggam; She brew’d gude ale for gentlemen; Sing auld Cowl lay ye down by me, Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. The gudewife’s dochter fell in a fever, Scroggam; The priest o’ the parish he fell in anither; Sing auld Cowl lay ye down by me, […]

The Author’s Earnest Cry And Prayer Poem To the Right Honourable and Honourable Scotch Representatives in the House of Commons.^1 Dearest of distillation! last and best— —How art thou lost!— Parody on Milton. Ye Irish lords, ye knights an’ squires, Wha represent our brughs an’ shires, An’ doucely manage our affairs In parliament, To you […]

Third Epistle To J. Lapraik Poem Robert Burns Guid speed and furder to you, Johnie, Guid health, hale han’s, an’ weather bonie; Now, when ye’re nickin down fu’ cannie The staff o’ bread, May ye ne’er want a stoup o’ bran’y To clear your head. May Boreas never thresh your rigs, Nor kick your rickles […]

On A Swearing Coxcomb Poem Robert Burns Here cursing, swearing Burton lies, A buck, a beau, or Dem my eyes! Who in his life did little good, And his last words were Dem my blood!

On A Scotch Bard, Gone To The West Indies Poem Robert Burns A’ ye wha live by sowps o’ drink, A’ ye wha live by crambo-clink, A’ ye wha live and never think, Come, mourn wi’ me! Our billie ‘s gien us a’ a jink, An’ owre the sea! Lament him a’ ye rantin core, […]

Robert Burns Poem Epitaph On A Lap-Dog Named Echo In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, Your heavy loss deplore; Now, half extinct your powers of song, Sweet Echo is no more. Ye jarring, screeching things around, Scream your discordant joys; Now, half your din of tuneless sound With Echo silent lies.

Robert Burns Poem Epistle To A Young Friend May __, 1786. I Lang hae thought, my youthfu’ friend, A something to have sent you, Tho’ it should serve nae ither end Than just a kind memento: But how the subject-theme may gang, Let time and chance determine; Perhaps it may turn out a sang: Perhaps […]