Meikle Thinks My Luve.

Tune - "My tocher's the jewel."


I.

    O Meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty,
        And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin;
    But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie
        My tocher's the jewel has charms for him.
    It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree;
        It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee;
    My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller,
        He canna hae lure to spare for me.

II.

    Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny,
        My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy;
    But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin',
        Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try.
    Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten tree,
        Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread,
    And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me.

Robert Burns

Robert Burns, also known as Rabbie Burns, the Bard of Ayrshire, and various other names and epithets, was a Scottish poet and lyricist. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland and is celebrated worldwide. Born on January 25, 1759, in Alloway, he is best known for works such as 'Auld Lang Syne,' 'Scots Wha Hae,' and 'A Red, Red Rose.' He passed away on July 21, 1796, in Dumfries.

Robert Burns

Verses To John Rankine.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Inventory; - In Answer To A Mandate By The Surveyor Of The Taxes.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Dean Of Faculty. - A New Ballad.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Invitation.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Country Lassie.

Tune - "The Country Lass."


I.

    In simmer, when the hay was mawn,
        And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
    While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
        And roses blaw in ilka bield;
    Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,
        Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will;
    Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild
        O' guid advisement comes nae ill.

II.

    It's ye hae wooers mony ane,
        And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken;
    Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,
        A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
    There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
        Fu' is his burn, fu' is his byre;
    Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,
        It's plenty beets the luver's fire.

III.

    For Johnie ...

Robert Burns

To Mrs. Scott, Of Wauchope.

    I mind it weel in early date,
    When I was beardless, young and blate,
        An' first could thresh the barn;
    Or hand a yokin at the pleugh;
    An' tho' forfoughten sair enough,
        Yet unco proud to learn:
    When first amang the yellow corn
        A man I reckon'd was,
    An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn
        Could rank my rig and lass,
            Still shearing, and clearing,
                The tither stooked raw,
            Wi' claivers, an' haivers,
                Wearing the day awa.

    E'en then, a wish, I mind its pow'r,
    A wish that to my latest hour
        Shall strongly heave my breast,
    That I for poor auld Scotland's sake
    Some usefu' plan or beuk could make,
        Or sing a sang at least...

Robert Burns

O Poortith Cauld.

Tune - "I had a horse."



I.

    O poortith cauld, and restless love,
        Ye wreck my peace between ye;
    Yet poortith a' I could forgive,
            An' twere na' for my Jeanie.
                O why should fate sic pleasure have,
                    Life's dearest bands untwining?
                Or why sae sweet a flower as love
                    Depend on fortune's shining?

II.

    This warld's wealth when I think on,
        It's pride, and a' the lave o't
    Fie, fie on silly coward man,
        That he should be the slave o't!

III.

    Her een sae bonnie blue betray
        How she repays my passion;
    But prudence is her o'erword ay,
        She talks of rank and fashion.

Robert Burns

My Collier Laddie.

Tune - "The Collier Laddie."


I.

    Where live ye, my bonnie lass?
        An' tell me what they ca' ye;
    My name, she says, is Mistress Jean,
        And I follow the Collier Laddie.
    My name she says, is Mistress Jean,
        And I follow the Collier Laddie.

II.

    See you not yon hills and dales,
        The sun shines on sae brawlie!
    They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
        Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
    They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
        Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.

III.

    Ye shall gang in gay attire,
        Weel buskit up sae gaudy;
    And ane to wait on every hand,
        Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
    And ane to wa...

Robert Burns

Meg O' The Mill.

Air - "Hey! bonnie lass, will you lie in a barrack?"



I.

    O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
    An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
    She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller,
    And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.

II.

    The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy;
    A heart like a lord and a hue like a lady:
    The Laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl;
    She's left the guid-fellow and ta'en the churl.

III.

    The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving;
    The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving,
    A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle,
    A whip by her side and a bonnie side-saddle.

IV.

    O wae on the siller, it is sae...

Robert Burns

What Can A Young Lassie.

Tune - "What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man."


I.

    What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,
        What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man?
    Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie
        To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan'!
    Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie
        To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan'!

II.

    He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin',
        He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang;
    He's doyl't and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen,
        O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man!
    He's doyl't and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen,
        O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man!

III.

    He hums and he ha...

Robert Burns