I hae a penny to spend, There—thanks to naebody; I hae naething to lend, I’ll borrow frae naebody. I am naebody’s lord, I’ll be slave to naebody; I hae a guid braid sword, I’ll tak dunts frae naebody. I’ll be merry and free, I’ll be sad for naebody; Naebody cares for me, I care for naebody. UP IN THE MORNING Up in the morning’s no’ for me, Up in the morning early; When a’ the hills are covered wi’ snaw, I’m sure it’s winter fairly. Cauld blaws the wind frae east to wast, The drift is driving sairly; Sae loud and shrill’s I hear the blast, I’m sure it’s winter fairly. The birds sit chittering in the thorn, A’ day they fare but sparely; And lang’s the night frae e’en to morn, I’m sure it’s winter fairly. O WERE I ON PARNASSUS HILL O were I on Parnassus hill, Or had o’ Helicon my fill, That I might catch poetic skill, To sing how dear I love thee! But Nith maun be my Muse’s well, My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel’, On Corsincon I’ll glow’r and spell, And write how dear I love thee. Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay! For a’ the lee-lang simmer’s day I couldna sing, I couldna say, How much, how dear, I love thee. I see thee dancing o’er the green, Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e’en— By Heaven and Earth I love thee! By night, by day, a-field, at hame, The thoughts o’ thee my breast inflame: And aye I muse and sing thy name— I only live to love thee. Tho’ I were doom’d to wander on, Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, Till my last weary sand was run, Till then—and then—I’d love thee! MY WIFE’S A WINSOME WEE THING She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o’ mine. I never saw a fairer, I never lo’ed a dearer, And neist my heart I’ll wear her, For fear my jewel tine. She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o’ mine. The warld’s wrack, we share o’t, The warstle and the care o’t; Wi’ her I’ll blythely bear it, And think my lot divine. THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, THE AUTHOR’S ONLY PET YOWE