Medley O Burns:

Selkirk Grace

Some hae meat and canna eat
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat and we can eat
Sae let the Lord be thankit.

by Robert Burns

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from Address To A Haggis

Fair fa‛ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o‛ the puddin-race!
Aboon them a‛ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang‛s my arm.

by Robert Burns

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Tae A Louse

Ha! Whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly,
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze and lace,
Tho‛ fiath! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creppin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn‛d by saunt an‛ sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her—
Sae fine a lady!
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.

O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An‛ set your beauties a‛ abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie‛s makin!
Thae winks an‛ finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin!

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
An‛ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an‛ gait wad lea‛e us,
An‛ ev‛n devotion!

an extract from “Tae a Louse”
by Robert Burns

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Tae A Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim‛rous beastie,
O, what a panic‛s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty
Wi‛ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an‛ chase thee,
Wi‛ murdering pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
What makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion
An' fellow mortal!

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o? mice an? men
Gang aft agley,
An? lea?e us nought but grief an? pain,
For promis?d joy!

Still thou art blest, compared wi‛ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e‛e,
On prospects dreaer!
An‛ forward, tho‛ I canna see,
I guess an‛ fear!

an extract from “Tae a Mouse”
by Robert Burns

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From ‘Epistle To Davie, A Brother
Poet‛.

It‛s no in titles nor in rank;
It‛s no in wealth like Lon‛on bank,
To purchase peace and rest;
It‛s no in makin muckle, mair:
It‛s no in books, it‛s no in lear,
To make us truly blest:
If happiness hae not her seat
And centre in the breast,
We may be wise, or rich, or great,
But never can be blest:
Nae treasures, nor pleasures,
Could make us happy lang;
The heart aye‛s the part aye
That makes us right or wrang.

by Robert Burns

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Ye Banks and Braes
(O‛ Bonnie Doon)

Ye banks and braes o‛ bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu‛ o‛ care?
Thou‛lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro‛ the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o‛ departed joys,
Departed never to return.

Aft hae I rov‛d by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o‛ its love,
And fondly sae did I o‛ mine.
Wi‛ lightsome heart I pu‛d a rose,
Fu‛ sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause lover stole my rose,
But ah! He left the thorn wi‛ me.

by Robert Burns