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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.

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
Despise
Gentle
Husband
Lengthened
Advice
Counsels
Sweet
Despises
Wife
Dames
Think
Greet
Thinking
Sage

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O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent
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God knows, I'm not the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be, But twenty times I rather would be An atheist clean, Than under gospel colours hid be Just for a screen.
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I'm truly sorry man's dominion has broken Nature's social union.
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As Tammie glow'red, amazed and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious.
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For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor.
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A women can make an average man great, and a great man average.
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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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Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.--Robert Burns
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Inspiring bold JohnBarleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!
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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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Why has a religious turn of mind always a tendency to narrow and harden the heart?
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Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, And o'er the crystal streamlet plays.
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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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Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining.
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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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They never sought in vain that sought the Lord alright!
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But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forever.
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The great Creator to revere Must sure become the creature But still the preaching cant forbear, And ev'n the rigid feature: Yet ne'er with wits profane to range Be complaisance extendedAn atheist laugh's a poor exchange For deity offended.
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