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Kinmont Willie

O have ye na heard o the fause Sakelde?
O have ye na heard o the keen Lord Scroop?
How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie,
On Hairibee to hang him up?

Had Willie had but twenty men,
But twenty men as stout as be,
Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen
Wi eight score in his companie.

They band his legs beneath the steed,
They tied his hands behind his back;
They guarded him, fivesome on each side,
And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.

They led him thro the Liddel-rack.
And also thro the Carlisle sands;
They brought him to Carlisle castell.
To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.

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poem by Andrew Lang
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Death and Doctor Hornbook

SOME books are lies frae end to end,
And some great lies were never penn’d:
Ev’n Ministers they hae been kenn’d,
In holy rapture,
A rousing whid, at times, to vend,
And nail’t wi’ Scripture.

But this that I am gaun to tell,
Which lately on a night befel,
Is just as true ’s the Deil’s in hell,
Or Dublin city:
That e’er he nearer comes oursel
’S a muckle pity.

The Clachan yill had made me canty,
I was na fou, but just had plenty;
I stacher’d whyles, but yet took tent ay
To free the ditches;
An’ hillocks, stanes, an’ bushes kenn’d ay
Frae ghaists an’ witches.

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poem by Robert Burns
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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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Christmas Auld Lang Syne

When mistletoe and tinsel glow
Paint a yuletide valentine
Back home I go to those I know
For a christmas auld lang syne
And as we gather round the tree
Our voices all combine
In sweet accord to thank our lord
For a christmas auld lang syne
When sleigh bells ring and choirs sing
And the childrens faces shine
With each new toy we share their joy
With a christmas auld lang syne
We sing his praise this day of days
And pray next year this time
Well all be near to share the cheer
Of a christmas auld lang syne
In sweet accord to thank our lord
For a christmas auld lang syne

song performed by Gloria Estefan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tam o' Shanter

"Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke." - Gawin Douglas

When chapmen billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors, neibors meet,
As market days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
And getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where 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.)

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poem by Robert Burns (1790)
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15 Selected Love Poems in Scots

1.Ballad

Oh cauld's the doonrush o a burn
In winter's iron thraa,
Bit caulder still's a merriage bed
Fin luv has stolen awa.

Far niver gowden sun luiks doon,
Sae derk's the gairden booer¬
Bit derker yet's the hairt o man
Far skaith an sorra cooer.

Oh deep's a dreich an dowie loch
Far salmon niver sweems,
Bit deeper still's the cruel mire
That smores a bairn's dreams.

Oh I wad don the goun sae green,
Wi lilies hap ma head
An like Tam Lin the elfin knicht,

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poem by Sheena Blackhall
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Sir Patrick Spens

The king sits in Dunfermline town
Drinking the blude-red wine;
'O whare will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship o' mine?'

O up and spak an eldern knight,
Sat at the king's right knee;
'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sail'd the sea.'

Our king has written a braid letter,
And seal'd it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.

The first word that Sir Patrick read
So loud, loud laugh'd he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read
The tear blinded his e'e.

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poem by anonym
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The Brus Book 18

[Edward Bruce marches toward Dundalk; he debates whether to fight]

Bot he that rest anoyit ay
And wald in travaill be alway,
A day forouth thar aryving
That war send till him fra the king,
5 He tuk his way southwart to far
Magre thaim all that with him war,
For he had nocht than in that land
Of all men I trow twa thousand,
Outane the kingis off Irchery
10 That in gret routis raid him by.
Towart Dundalk he tuk the way,
And quhen Richard of Clar hard say
That he come with sa few menye
All that he mycht assemblit he
15 Off all Irland off armyt men,
Sua that he had thar with him then
Off trappyt hors twenty thousand
But thai that war on fute gangand,

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poem by John Barbour
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The Brus Book VII

[The king escapes from the hound]

The king towart the wod is gane
Wery forswayt and will of wane
Intill the wod sone entryt he
And held doun towart a vale
5 Quhar throu the woid a watter ran.
Thidder in gret hy wend he than
And begouth for to rest him thar
And said he mycht no forthirmar.
His man said, 'Schyr, it may nocht be.
10 Abyd ye her ye sall son se
Fyve hunder yarnand you to sla,
And thai ar fele aganys us twa.
And sen we may nocht dele with mycht
Help us all that we may with slycht.'
15 The king said, 'Sen that thou will sua,
Ga furth, and I sall with the ga.
Bot Ik haiff herd oftymys say

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poem by John Barbour
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The Brus Book IV

[English harshness to prisoners]

In Rawchryne leve we now the king
In rest foroutyn barganyng,
And off his fayis a quhile speke we
That throu thar mycht and thar powste
5 Maid sic a persecucioune
Sa hard, sa strayt and sa feloune
On thaim that till hym luffand wer
Or kyn or freynd on ony maner
That at till her is gret pite.
10 For thai sparyt off na degre
Thaim that thai trowit his freynd wer
Nother off the kyrk na seculer,
For off Glaskow Byschop Robert
And Marcus off Man thai stythly speryt
15 Bath in fetrys and in presoune,
And worthy Crystoll off Seytoun
Into Loudoun betresyt was
Throu a discipill off Judas

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poem by John Barbour
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