The Scots

Black Scots and red Scots,
Red Scots and black;
I hae dealt wi the red Scot,
An dealt wi the black.

The Red Scot is angry.
Among the sons o men,
Hell pay you a bawbee,
An steal it back again.

Black Scots and red Scots,
Red Scots and black;
I hae dealt wi the red Scot,
An dealt wi the black.

The Black Scot is frienly,
A brither an a,
Hell pay you a bawbee,
An steal back twa.

The Ginger Scot o a Scots,
The warst shade o Scot,
For hell pay ye naething,
An tak a youve got.

Black Scots and red Scots,
Short Scots an lang,
Ginger Scots an bald Scots,
I dealt wi the gang.

Henry Lawson

Henry Lawson was an Australian writer and poet. Along with Banjo Paterson, he is among the best-known Australian poets and fiction writers of the colonial period and is often called Australia's 'greatest short story writer'. His works frequently document the lives and struggles of rural and outback Australians. Lawson's own life was marked by hardship and struggles including impaired hearing and financial difficulties, which influenced his realist depictions of Australian life. Some of his notable works include 'While the Billy Boils' and 'In the Days When the World was Wide.'

Henry Lawson

When Hopes Ran High

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Bush Fire

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Ireland Shall Rebel

Henry Lawson, 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.

The Scot.

    That no Scotsman is perfect, we freely confess,
        Nor has been since the time of the fall;
    Yet we think, notwithstanding and nevertheless,
        He is "nae sheep-shank bane," after all.
    "Sic excellent pairts" as he has will atone
        For the lack of a tittle or jot;
    And, although we don't boast, it is very well known
        For some things you must go to a Scot.

    If you want a sweet song that comes straight from the heart
        Of a man who had few for his peers,
    An approved son of genius and master of art.
        And a lover, with laughter and tears;
    A song that gives honor to personal worth,
        And ennobles the lowliest lot,
    And makes brothers of all who inhabit the earth;
        You must go "for a' that"...

W. M. MacKeracher

Bobbies Statue

Grown tired of mourning for my sins,
And brooding over merits,
The other night with aching heart
I went amongst the spirits;
And I met one that I knew well:
O Scottys Ghost! is that you?
And did you see the fearsome crowd
At Bobbie Burnss statue?

They hurried up in hansom cabs,
Tall-hatted and frock-coated;
They trained it in from all the towns,
The weird and hairy-throated;
They spoke in some outlandish tongue,
They cut some comic capers,
And ilka man was wild to get
His name in all the papers.

They showed no sign of intellect,
Those frauds who rushed before us;
They knew one verse of Auld Lang Syne,
The first one and the chorus.
They clacked the clack o Scotlans Bard,
They glibly talked of Rabby;
But what...

Henry Lawson

Scots Of The Riverina

The boy cleared out to the city from his home at harvest time,
They were Scots of the Riverina, and to run from home was a crime.
The old man burned his letters, the first and last he burned,
And he scratched his name from the Bible when the old wife's back was turned.

A year went past and another. There were calls from the firing-line;
They heard the boy had enlisted, but the old man made no sign.
His name must never be mentioned on the farm by Gundagai,
They were Scots of the Riverina with ever the kirk hard by.

The boy came home on his "final", and the township's bonfire burned.
His mother's arms were about him; but the old man's back was turned.
The daughters begged for pardon till the old man raised his hand,
A Scot of the Riverina who was hard to understand.

Henry Lawson

The Author's Earnest Cry And Prayer To The Scotch Representatives In The House Of Commons.

    'Dearest of distillation! last and best!----
    ------How art thou lost!--------'

Parody On Milton


    Ye Irish lords, ye knights an' squires,
    Wha represent our brughs an' shires,
    An' doucely manage our affairs
        In Parliament,
    To you a simple Bardie's prayers
        Are humbly sent.

    Alas! my roupet Muse is hearse!
    Your honours' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce,
    To see her sittin' on her a--e
        Low i' the dust,
    An' scriechin' out prosaic verse,
        An' like to brust!

    Tell them wha hae the chief direction,
    Scotland an' me's in great affliction,
    E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction
        On aqua-vitæ;
    An' rouse them up to strong conviction,
  ...

Robert Burns

The Twa Jocks

Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska tae Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye:
"That's whit I hate maist aboot fechtin' - it makes ye sae deevilish dry;
Noo jist hae a keek at yon ferm-hoose them Gairmans are poundin' sae fine,
Weel, think o' it, doon in the dunnie there's bottles and bottles o' wine.
A' hell's fairly belchin' oot yonner, but oh, lad, I'm ettlin' tae try. . . ."
"If it's poose she'll be with ye whateffer," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.

Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: "Whit price fur a funeral wreath?
We're dodgin' a' kinds o' destruction, an' jist by the skin o' oor teeth.
Here, spread yersel oot on yer belly, and slither along in the glaur;
Confoond ye, ye big Hielan' deevil! Ye don't realize there's a war.
Ye think that ye're back in Dunvegan, and herdin' the wee...

Robert William Service

The Pawky Duke.

[It is hoped that all Scottish characteristics known to the Southron are here: pawkiness and pride of race; love of the dram; redness of hair; eldership of, and objection to instrumental music in the Kirk; hatred of the Sassenach; inability to see a joke, etc., etc. An undying portrait is thus put on record of the typical Scot of the day.]

There aince was a very pawky duke,
Far kent for his joukery-pawkery,
Wha owned a hoose wi' a gran' outlook,
A gairden an' a rockery.
Hech mon! The pawky duke!
Hoot ay! An' a rockery!
For a bonnet laird wi' a sma' kailyaird
Is naethin' but a mockery!

He dwalt far up a Heelant glen
Where the foamin' flood an' the crag is,
He dined each day on the usquebae
An' he washed it doon wi' haggis.
Hech mon! The pawky duke!
Hoot ay! A...

David Rorie