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Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie!

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
Panic
Rous
Beastie

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My dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
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A women can make an average man great, and a great man average.
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The voice of Nature loudly cries,And many a message from the skies,That something in us never dies.
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They never sought in vain that sought the Lord alright!
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Dare to be honest and fear no labor.
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And wild-scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale.
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The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.
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An honest man here lies at rest, the friend of man the friend of truth the friend of age and guide of youth. Few hearts like his with virtue warmed, few heads with knowledge so informed. If there's another world, he lives in bliss. If there is none, he made the best of this.
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The best plans of men and mice often go awry.
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Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit.
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Mankind is a science that defies definitions.
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Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing.
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The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, O.
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Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear.
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Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet To think how monie counsels sweet, How monie lengthened sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises.
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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.
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As Tammie glow'red, amazed and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious.
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God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be.
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Misled by fancy's meteor ray, By passion driven But yet the light that led astray Was light from heaven.
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Not the bee upon the blossom, In the pride o' sunny noon Not the little sporting fairy, All beneath the simmer moon Not the poet, in the moment Fancy lightens in his e'e, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gi'es to me.
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