Robert Burns

A Red, Red Rose
O My Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly spring in June;
O My Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
O I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o'life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

On Jas. Grieve, Laird of Boghead, Tarbalton
Here lies Boghead among the dead,
In hopes to get salvation;
But if such as he, in Heav'n may be,
Then welcome, hail! damnation.--

Elegy on Mr. William Cruikshank A.M.
Now honest William's gaen to Heaven,
I wat na gin't can mend him:
The faults he had in Latin lay
For nane in English kend them.--

Epitaph for William Nicol
YE maggots, feed on Willie's brains,
For few sic feasts ye've gotten;
An' fix your claws into his heart,
For feint a bit o't's rotten.

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