There's Some Are Fou O' Love Divine;

Here's To Us, Who's Like Us Damn Few, And They're All Dead.

O Life! Thou Art A Galling Load, Along A Rough, A Weary Road, To Wretches Such As I!

But Facts Are Chiels That Winna Ding, An' Downa Be Disputed.

Painters And Poets Have Liberty To Lie.

Some Wee Short Hour Ayont The Twal.