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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.

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
Teaching
Honest
Stools
Names
Jargon
Nature
Horns
School
Fools
Made
Latin
Schools
Fool

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Such is the fate of simple Bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd
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And like a passing thought, she fled In light away.
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Great for good, or great for evil.
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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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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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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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Beauty's of a fading nature. Has a season and is gone!
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Life is but a day at most.
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For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor.
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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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Affliction's sons are brothers in distress A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!
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Here's to us, who's like us Damn few, and they're all dead.
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And wild-scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale.
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Oh would some power the gift give us, to see ourselves as others see us!
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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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On Earth, Discord! A gloomy Heaven above, opening her jealous gates to the nineteen thousandth part of the tithe of mankind! And below, an inescapable & inexorable Hell, expanding its leviathan jaws for the vast residue of Mortals!
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