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His locked, lettered, braw brass collar, Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.

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
Lettered
Apparel
Collar
Collars
Brass
Scholar
Locked
Gentleman
Shewed

More quotes by Robert Burns

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While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, The fate of empires and the fall of kings While quacks of State must each produce his plan, And even children lisp the Rights of Man Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, The Rights of Woman merit some attention.
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My heart is sair-I dare na tell, My heart is sair for Somebody.
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Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.--Robert Burns
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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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Why has a religious turn of mind always a tendency to narrow and harden the heart?
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Nae man can tether time or tide The hour approachesTam maun ride That hour, o'night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hourTam mounts his beast in.
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Humid seal of soft affections, Tend'rest pledge of future bliss, Dearest tie of young connections, Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss.
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Oh would some power the gift give us, to see ourselves as others see us!
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I'll be merry and free, I'll be sad for nae-body If nae-body cares for me, I'll care for nae-body.
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The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that.
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The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley, And leave us nought but grief and pain, For promised joy.
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How wretched is the person who hangs on by the favors of the powerful.
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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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Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
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Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss.
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An atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange For Deity offended!
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Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new.
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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.
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Their sighing, canting, grace-proud faces, their three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces.
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