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

“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 momentFancy lightens in his e'e,Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,That thy presence gi'es to me.”

“Till crash! the cruel coulter pastOut thro' thy cell.”

“Flow gently, sweet Afton,amang thy green braes,Flow gently, I'll sing theea song in thy praise;My Mary's asleepby thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton,disturb not her dream.Thou stock dove whose echoresounds thro' the glen,Ye wild whistly blackbirdsin yon thorny den,Thou green crested lapwingthy screaming forbear,I charge you, disturb notmy slumbering fair.How lofty, sweet Afton,thy neighboring hills,Far mark'd with the coursesof clear winding rills;There daily I wanderas noon rises high,My flocks and my Mary'ssweet cot in my eye.How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where, wild in the woodlands,the primroses blow;There oft, as mild eveningweeps over the lea,The sweet-scented birk shadesmy Mary and me.Thy crystal stream, Afton,how lovely it glides,And winds by the cot wheremy Mary resides;How wanton thy watersher snowy feet lave,As, gathering sweet flowerets,she stems thy clear wave.Flow gently, sweet Afton,amang thy green braes,Flow gently, sweet river,the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleepby thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton,disturb not her dreams.”

“The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.”

“O wad some Power the giftie gie usTo see oursels as ithers see us!”

“Wha Is That At My Bower-Door1783Wha is that at my bower-door?O wha is it but Findlay! Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here: Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay; What mak' ye, sae like a thief? O come and see, quo' Findlay; Before the morn ye'll work mischief: Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. Gif I rise and let you in- Let me in, quo' Findlay; Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;"Indeed will I, quo' Findlay; In my bower if ye should stay- Let me stay, quo' Findlay; I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. Here this night if ye remain- I'll remain, quo' Findlay; I dread ye'll learn the gate again; Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. What may pass within this bower- Let it pass, quo' Findlay; Ye maun conceal till your last hour:Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.”