Quotes about ken., page 3
Address ToThe Devil
O thou! whatever title suit thee,-
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie!
Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie,
Clos'd under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie
To scaud poor wretches!
Hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee,
An' let poor damned bodies be;
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie,
E'en to a deil,
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me,
An' hear us squeel!
Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame;
Far ken'd an' noted is thy name;
An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame,
Thou travels far;
An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame,
Nor blate nor scaur.
Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion,
For prey a' holes an' corners tryin;
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poem by Robert Burns
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Address to the Devil
1 O thou! whatever title suit thee,--
2 Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie!
3 Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie,
4 Clos'd under hatches,
5 Spairges about the brunstane cootie
6 To scaud poor wretches!
7 Hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee,
8 An' let poor damned bodies be;
9 I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie,
10 E'en to a deil,
11 To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me,
12 An' hear us squeel!
13 Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame;
14 Far ken'd an' noted is thy name;
15 An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame,
16 Thou travels far;
17 An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame,
18 Nor blate nor scaur.
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poem by Robert Burns
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Address to the Deil
O Prince! O chief of many throned Pow'rs
That led th' embattl'd Seraphim to war-
Milton
O Thou! whatever title suit thee-
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie,
Clos'd under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie,
To scaud poor wretches!
Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,
An' let poor damned bodies be;
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie,
Ev'n to a deil,
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me,
An' hear us squeel!
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poem by Robert Burns
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The Lang Coortin
The ladye she stood at her lattice high,
Wi' her doggie at her feet;
Thorough the lattice she can spy
The passers in the street,
'There's one that standeth at the door,
And tirleth at the pin:
Now speak and say, my popinjay,
If I sall let him in.'
Then up and spake the popinjay
That flew abune her head:
'Gae let him in that tirls the pin:
He cometh thee to wed.'
O when he cam' the parlour in,
A woeful man was he!
'And dinna ye ken your lover agen,
Sae well that loveth thee?'
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poem by Lewis Carroll
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The Lang Coortin'
THE ladye she stood at her lattice high,
Wi' her doggie at her feet;
Thorough the lattice she can spy
The passers in the street,
"There's one that standeth at the door,
And tirleth at the pin:
Now speak and say, my popinjay,
If I sall let him in."
Then up and spake the popinjay
That flew abune her head:
"Gae let him in that tirls the pin:
He cometh thee to wed."
O when he cam' the parlour in,
A woeful man was he!
"And dinna ye ken your lover agen,
Sae well that loveth thee?"
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poem by Lewis Carroll from Phantasmagoria and Other Poems
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Tam O'Shanter
When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousin, at the nappy,
And gettin fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses.)
O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
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poem by Robert Burns
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Hake'ev Haze
'AD 'AKHSHYAV LO NISH'AR DAVAR
TEN LI SIMAN
HAKE'EV SHEHAYAH NISH'AR
KEN KOL HAZMAN
ATAH MITRACHEK, K'MU GAL NE'ELAM
VE'AL HACHOL HACHAM
RAK HAMAVAT SH'MAKHE'EV KOL KACH
K'SHACHOM GUFCHA BI
OCHEZ BI V'MITRAGESH
LOHET BI V'MITFATEL
HAKE'EV HAZEH
MAKEH BI 'OD
BID MA'OT KOL HAKAYTZ TAM
BA LU HASTYAV
ZIKHRONOT MITZEYRIM 'ANAN
K'MU AZ KEN 'AKHSHYAV
ATAH MITKAREV V'MELATEF ET PANAI
V'NOSHEM OTI, MITLAHET MULI, V'EYNAH
RETUVOT KOL KACH
K'SHACHOM GUFCHA BI
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song performed by Ofra Haza
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Le'amshich Velitzod
KEN YESH LI SOD
KOL BOKER MIT'ORER V'MEZAMER
ET HATIKVOT
SHEL YOM CHADASH HU MESADER
MEMALE SHUROT BADAF HAREYKH
ME'ENAH KOL 'ETZEV MESALEK
LAKUM LEHAMSHIKH 'OD
IM KOACH SHEL ELEF SHIRIM
LAKUM LEHAMSHIKH 'OD
LEHAMSHIKH 'OD V'LITZ'OD
LIPHKOACH 'EYNAYIM
EL KESEM 'OROT RECHOKIM
LIPHKOACH 'EYNAYIM
EL SADOT ZHARIM
IM KOREH
U'VALEYLOT HATZEL 'ALAY OVER
SHUV ME'AYEM
AKH BA'AFELAH ELOHIM 'OZER
'OR CHADASH VECHAM ELAY NIGLEH
VIHINEH 'OD YOM NIFLAH 'OLEH
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song performed by Ofra Haza
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Deep River
Ten to ten wo tsunagu you ni
Sen wo egaku yubi ga nazoru no wa
Watashi no kita michi soretomo ikisaki
Sen to sen wo musubu futari
Yagate minna umi ni tadoritsuki hitotsu ni naru kara
Kowakunai keredo
Oh oh ikutsu mono kawa wo nagare
Wake mo kikazu ni
Ataerareta namae to tomo ni
Oh oh subete wo ukeireru nante
Shinakute ii yo
Watashitachi no itami ga ima tobidatta
That's why...
That's why I chose you
Ken to ken ga butsukariau oto o
Shiru tame ni takusareta ken ja nai yo
Sonna mujun de dare wo mamoreru no
Oh oh Nando mo sugata o kaete
Watashi no mae ni maiorita anata wo
Kyou wa sagashiteru
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song performed by Utada Hikaru
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The Brigs of Ayr (Shorter version)
Inscribed to John Ballantine, Esq., Ayr.
The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough,
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough;
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush;
The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill,
Or deep-ton'd plovers grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill;
Shall he-nurst in the peasant's lowly shed,
To hardy independence bravely bred,
By early poverty to hardship steel'd.
And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field —
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes,
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes?
Or labour hard the panegyric close,
With all the venal soul of dedicating prose?
No! though his artless strains he rudely sings,
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings,
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard,
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward.
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poem by Robert Burns (1786)
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