_To a Louse_.
O wad some power the giftie gie us,
To see oursel's as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion.
* * * * *
_Epistle to a Young Friend_.
The fear o' hell 's a hangman's whip
To haud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your honor grip,
Let that aye be your border.
* * * * *
_The Twa Dogs_.
His locked, lettered, braw brass collar
Shawed him the gentleman and scholar.
* * * * *
_Epistle to James Smith_.
O Life! how pleasant in thy morning,
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning!
Cold, pausing Caution's lesson scorning,
We frisk away,
Like schoolboys at th' expected warning.
To joy and play.
* * * * *
_Despondency_.
O Life! them art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,
To wretches such as I!
_Auld Lang Syne_.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne?
* * * * *
_Green grow the Rashes_.
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man.
And then she made the lasses, O!
* * * * *
_Man was made to Mourn_.
Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn.
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