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Ye Hypocrites, are these your pranks To murder men and gie God thanks Desist for shame, proceed no further God won't accept your thanks for murder.

Robert Burns

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Robert Burns
Age: 37 †
Born: 1759
Born: January 25
Died: 1796
Died: July 21
Farmer
Musicologist
Poet
Songwriter
Writer
Robbie Burns
Rabbie Burns
Scotland's favourite son
Ploughman Poet
Robden of Solway Firth
Bard of Ayrshire
The Bard
Robert Burns
Accept
Desist
Accepting
Pranks
Men
Hypocrites
Proceed
Hypocrite
Thanks
Murder
Shame

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Learn taciturnity and let that be your motto!
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To step aside is human.
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The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.
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And like a passing thought, she fled In light away.
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What's a' your jargon o' your schools, Your Latin names for horns and stools If honest nature made you fools.
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To see her is to love her, And love but her forever For nature made her what she is, And never made anither!
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Nature's law, That man was made to mourn. Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn! O Death, the poor man's dearest friend, The kindest and the best!
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Suspense is worse than disappointment.
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God help the teacher, if a man of sensibility and genius, when a booby father presents him with his booby son, and insists on lighting up the rays of science in a fellow's head whose skull is impervious and inaccessible by any other way than a positive fracture with a cudgel.
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Painters and poets have liberty to lie.
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The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that.
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O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent
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Again rejoicing Nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in the morning dews.
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Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss.
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Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme / My barmie noddle's working prime.
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Now's the day and now's the hour.
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The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.
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Once upon a Lammas Night When corn rigs are bonny, Beneath the Moon's unclouded light, I held awhile to Annie... The time went by with careless heed Between the late and early, With small persuasion she agreed To see me through the barley... Corn rigs and barley rigs, Corn rigs are bonny! I'll not forget that happy night Among the rigs with Annie!
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I look on the opposite sex with something like the admiration with which I regard the starry sky on a frosty December night. I admire the beauty of the Creator's workmanship, I am charmed with the wild but graceful eccentricity of the motions, and then I wish both of them goodnight.
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Their sighing, canting, grace-proud faces, their three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces.
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