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

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

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 some are fou o’ love divine; There’s some are fou o’ brandy.

God knows, I’m no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be.

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.

My Son, these maxims make a rule An lump them ay thegither: The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither.

Beauty’s of a fading nature. Has a season and is gone!

Life is but a day at most.

The honest man, though e’er sae poor, Is king o’ men, for a’ that!

There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing.

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

When chill November’s surly blast Made fields and forests bare.

Now’s the day and now’s the hour.

Some books are lies frae end to end.

It ‘s guid to be merry and wise, It ‘s guid to be honest and true, It ‘s guid to support Caledonia’s cause, And bide by the buff and the blue.

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