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INDEX TO THE POETRY.

IN THE

ALPHABETICAL ORDER OF THE FIRST LINES.

VOL. III.

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A guid New-year I wish thee, Maggie!
All hail! inexorable lord!

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods.
Anna, thy charms my bosom fire!
As Mailie an' her lambs thegither
A' ye wha live by soups o' drink
Ask why got made the gem so small
As father Adam first was fool'd
Auld com'rad dear, and brither sinner
Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows
Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes
Cease ye prudes, your envious railing

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Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life

Dear S, the sleest, paukie thief

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Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live

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He who of Ranken sang, lies stiff and dead

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seen the Deil!

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Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots

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Here sowter - in death does sleep

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Here lies J-n B-y honest man

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Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd

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I sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth
I'mind it weel in early date

In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles
Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast

Is there a whim-inspired fool

It was upon a Lammas night

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Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief

Know thou, O stranger to the fame

Kilmarnock Wabsters, fidge an' claw

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Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg

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My lov'd, my honoured, much respected friend!

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My canty, witty, rhyming ploughman

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My bottle is my holy pool.

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No churchman am I for to rail and to write

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Now nature hangs her mantle green
Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns
Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care
O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody!
rough, rude, ready-witty R-

O Thou dread. Pow'r who reign'st above!
O Thou Great Being, what thou art
O Thou pale orb, that silent shines
O Thou, the first, the greatest friend!
O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause

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O Death had'st thou but spared his life

0 thou whom poetry abhors

One Queen Artemisa as old stories tell

Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear

Orthodox, orthodox, wha believe in John Knox

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The poor man weeps here G-n sleeps
The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough
The sun had closed the winter day
The wind blew hollow frae the hills.
The wintry west extends his blast
The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare
The King's most humble servant, I

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The deil cam fiddlin through the town

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The Devil got notice that grose was a-dying

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Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st
Thou's welcome wean, mishanter fa' me
"Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle .
Upon a simmer Sunday morn
Upon that night, when fairies light
We cam na here to view your warks
Wee. modest, crimson-tipped flower.
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie
When biting Boreas, fell and doure
When chapman billies leave the street
When chill November's surly blast
When Guildford good our pilot stood
While briers an' woodbines budding green

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Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene!

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