Gars Auld Claes Look Amaist As Weel's

If There 's A Hole In A' Your Coats, I Rede Ye Tent It; A Chiel 's Amang Ye Takin' Notes, And, Faith, He 'll Prent It.

The Fear O' Hell's A Hangman's Whip To Haud The Wretch In Order; But Where Ye Feel Your Honour Grip, Let That Aye Be Your Border.

Even Thou Who Mournst The Daisy's Fate, That Fate Is Thine--no Distant Date; Stern Ruin's Ploughshare Drives, Elate, Full On Thy Bloom, Till Crushed Beneath The Furrow's Weight Shall Be Thy Doom!

Wee, Sleekit, Cowrin, Tim'rous Beastie, O, What A Panic's In Thy Breastie!

I'll Be Merry And Free, I'll Be Sad For Nae-body; If Nae-body Cares For Me, I'll Care For Nae-body.