There's Naethin Like The Honest Nappy!

    There's naethin like the honest nappy!
    Whaur'll ye e'er see men sae happy,
    Or women, sonsie, saft an' sappy,
        'Tween morn an' morn
    As them wha like to taste the drappie
        In glass or horn?

    I've seen me daezt upon a time;
    I scarce could wink or see a styme;
    Just ae hauf muchkin does me prime,
        Ought less is little,
    Then back I rattle on the rhyme,
        As gleg's a whittle.

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

The Carles Of Dysart.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To John Taylor.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

There Was A Bonnie Lass.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To A Gentleman Who Had Sent Him A Newspaper, And Offered To Continue It Free Of Expense.

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.

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

The Rantin' Dog, The Daddie O'T.

I.

O wha my babie-clouts will buy?
O wha will tent me when I cry?
Wha will kiss me where I lie?
    The rantin' dog, the daddie o't.

II.

O wha will own he did the fau't?
O wha will buy the groanin' maut?
O wha will tell me how to ca't?
    The rantin' dog, the daddie o't.

III.

When I mount the creepie chair,
Wha will sit beside me there?
Gie me Rob, I'll seek nae mair,
    The rantin' dog, the daddie o't.

IV.

Wha will crack to me my lane?
Wha will make me fidgin' fain?
Wha will kiss me o'er again?
    The rantin' dog, the daddie o't.

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

To William Simpson, Ochiltree.

May, 1785.


    I gat your letter, winsome Willie;
    Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie;
    Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly,
        An' unco vain,
    Should I believe, my coaxin' billie,
        Your flatterin' strain.

    But I'se believe ye kindly meant it,
    I sud be laith to think ye hinted
    Ironic satire, sidelins sklented
        On my poor Musie;
    Tho' in sic phraisin' terms ye've penn'd it,
        I scarce excuse ye.

    My senses wad be in a creel,
    Should I but dare a hope to speel,
    Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield,
        The braes o' fame;
    Or Fergusson, the writer chiel,
        A deathless name.

    (O Fergusson! thy glorious parts
    Ill suited law's dry, musty...

Robert Burns

On Captain Grose's Peregrinations Through Scotland, Collecting The Antiquities Of That Kingdom.

    Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots,
    Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's;
    If there's a hole in a' your coats,
        I rede you tent it:
    A chiel's amang you taking notes,
        And, faith, he'll prent it!

    If in your bounds ye chance to light
    Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight,
    O' stature short, but genius bright,
        That's he, mark weel,
    And wow! he has an unco slight
        O' cauk and keel.

    By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,
    Or kirk deserted by its riggin,
    It's ten to one ye'll find him snug in
        Some eldritch part,
    Wi' deils, they say, L--d save's! colleaguin'
        At some black art.

    Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer,
    Ye gipsey-gang that deal in...

Robert Burns

Tibbie, I Hae Seen The Day.

Tune--"Invercald's Reel."


Chorus.

    O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
        Ye wad na been sae shy;
    For lack o' gear ye lightly me,
        But, trowth, I care na by.

I.

    Yestreen I met you on the moor,
    Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure;
    Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
        But fient a hair care I.

II.

    I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
    Because ye hae the name o' clink,
    That ye can please me at a wink,
        Whene'er ye like to try.

III.

    But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
    Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
    Wha follows ony saucy quean,
        That looks sae proud and high.

IV.

    Altho' a lad were e'er sae sm...

Robert Burns