Quotes about sic, page 8
Abundant Harvest
The following was composed and read at a gathering in the new
Parsonage, Salford, in the fall, 1883.
The farmers are in cheerful mood,
For harvest all it hath been good;
And all the grain was sown this spring
An abundant yield will bring.
And you can scarcely stow away.
The yield of barley, oats and hay ;
Such pasture it is seldom seen,
E'en now it is so fresh and green.
This beauteous color nature decks
While it insures you large milk checques [sic],
And certes you've much cause to praise
For hogs and cattle that you raise.
poem by James McIntyre
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To The Wood-Lark
O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art,
For surely that wad touch her heart,
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.
Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nocht but lobve and sorrow join'd,
Sic notes o' woe could wauken.
Thou tells o' never-ending care;
O' speechless grief, and dark despair;
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken!
poem by Robert Burns
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De Quintia Et Sesbia. Ep. 87
DE QUINTIA ET LESBIA. EP. 87.
Quintia formosa est multis, mihi candida, longa,
Recta est; haec ego sic singula confiteor:
Tota illud formosa nego: nam multa venustas;
Nulla in tam magno est corpore mica salis.
Lesbia formosa est quae, cum pulcherrima tota est,
Tum omnibus una omneis surripuit veneres.
ENGLISHED.
Quintia is handsome, fair, tall, straight: all these
Very particulars I grant with ease:
But she all ore 's not handsome; here's her fault:
In all that bulk there's not one corne of salt,
Whilst Lesbia, fair and handsome too all ore,
All graces and all wit from all hath bore.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Address to the Woodlark
O Stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing, fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art;
For surely that wad touch her heart
Wha kills me wi’ disdaining.
Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join’d,
Sic notes o’ woe could wauken!
Thou tells o’ never-ending care;
O’speechless grief, and dark despair:
For pity’s sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken.
poem by Robert Burns
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Bonie Peggy Alison
Tune - "The Braes o' Balquhidder."
Chor. - And I'll kiss thee yet, yet,
And I'll kiss thee o'er again:
And I'll kiss thee yet, yet,
My bonie Peggy Alison.
Ilk care and fear, when thou art near
I evermair defy them, O!
Young kings upon their hansel throne
Are no sae blest as I am, O!
And I'll kiss thee yet, yet, &c.
When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure, O!
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O!
And I'll kiss thee yet, yet, &c.
And by thy een sae bonie blue,
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poem by Robert Burns
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SLIP-KNOT to be ignored
Vociferation intro
Epic disasterpiece
Constructed, animated
Subliminal masterpiece
Camouflaged profile
Exorcised, lyrical
Fiery damorous
Meaning is mystical
Awaken our minds
We wait and bleed?
Pendulating mosh pit
You've met our needs
Staying sic
Maggots alive
Poetically Perfect
Number 8 of 9
Catillating semblance
Melanoid mood
Scrutinize assemblage
Disguised in your hood
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poem by Dave Sherratt
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Bonie Lesley
O saw ye bonie Lesley
As she gaed o'er the Border?
She 's gane, like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.
To see her is to love her,
And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,
And ne'er made sic anither!
Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee:
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,
The hearts o' men adore thee.
The Deil he couldna scaith thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee;
He'd look into thy bonnie face
And say, 'I canna wrang thee!'
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poem by Robert Burns
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Bonnie Lesley
O SAW ye bonnie Lesley
As she gaed o'er the Border?
She 's gane, like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.
To see her is to love her,
And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,
And ne'er made sic anither!
Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee:
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,
The hearts o' men adore thee.
The Deil he couldna scaith thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee;
He'd look into thy bonnie face
And say, 'I canna wrang thee!'
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Burns
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To a Lady
SWEET rois of vertew and of gentilness,
Delytsum lily of everie lustynes,
Richest in bontie and in bewtie clear,
And everie vertew that is wenit dear,
Except onlie that ye are mercyless
Into your garth this day I did persew;
There saw I flowris that fresche were of hew;
Baith quhyte and reid most lusty were to seyne,
And halesome herbis upon stalkis greene;
Yet leaf nor flowr find could I nane of rew.
I doubt that Merche, with his cauld blastis keyne,
Has slain this gentil herb, that I of mene;
Quhois piteous death dois to my heart sic paine
That I would make to plant his root againe,--
So confortand his levis unto me bene.
poem by William Dunbar
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Transgressions
Ode to Tiger Woods, my hero no more
I must confess
I had these transgressions on the golf course
I knew the rules going in
And I went in swinging from the heels
I putted around
Played with my balls
Even kissed them for good luck
I laid up when I should have used my driver
Now these transgressions won’t get me out of the woods (sic)
And I don’t want them publicized
That would make me look like I was playing in the rough
Every now and then I use my long iron very well
It brings an ah! from the crowd
My woody is my best friend, has got me out of many a jam
Now I feel like I’m in a sand trap
And don’t want to hit a tree with my next shot
Yes I’m sorry for of these transgressions
But I’ll just keep my scorecard in my back pocket
poem by Alfred Ramos
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