Robert Burns

“ The Misers a Foo’, and the Lover s an Ass,
And be only’s Wife, who adores the full Glass.
⁠Let the Miser then hug up his ill-gotten Pelf,
And to reed empty bags, he may starve his ownself,
Let the Lover still languish ’twixt hope and despair,
And doat on a face as inconstant as fair:
But still may his bliss be as great as his soul,
Who pays no devoir but to Wine and the bowl. ”

“ WHEN the trees were all bare, not a leaf to be seen,
⁠and the meadows their beauties had lost:
When all Nature disrob’d of her mantle of green,
⁠and the rivers bound up by the frost.
When the peasant inactive stands shivering with cold,
⁠and the bleak winds northerly blow ”

“ The wife of a cobler, Joan was, her name,
She had a fine hen of a delicate fize,
The like you never beheld with your eyes.
She had a red head, grey wings, yellow legs,
Each Summer she laid a bushel of eggs ”

“ His breach it is strong, his face pale and wan,
And that’s the hail properties of an auld man.
⁠When he down lieth, he groaneth, he crieth,
As ane were a dying dolour and pain;
In dead of love-kisses, he itches and scratches,
Himself he outstretchen with groaning again.
⁠But when he lies down at ten o’ the clock,
Turns first to the wall, and then to the stock;
Ithen wipe the tears, now as they down run,
And say woe to the day, ere I saw an auld man!
⁠Young giglet he ca'e me, and says he will lame me,
Young gigalet he names me, and sometimes a whore ”

“ A large cuckold’s cap, I was sent by a friend.
The Quaker's wife nodded, and said with a frown,
I han’t such a thing if thou’d give me a crown;
Besides, I’d not lend it, suppose that I had,
For fear it should make my poor husband run mad.
In town there are many young women, perhaps
Are cunning and artful in making such caps ”

“ WHAT can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,
⁠What can a young lassie do wi’ an auld man!
Bad luck on the penny, that tempted my minnie
⁠To sell her poor Jenny for siller and lan’!
Bad luck on the penny, that tempted my minnie, etc.
He's always compleein' frae mornin' to e’enin’,
⁠He hofts and he hirples the weary day lang;
He’s doy’lt and he’s dozin, his blude it is frozen,
⁠O dreary’s the night wi’ a crazy auld man! Bad, etc.
He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers,
⁠I never can please him, do a’ that I can ”