Robert Burns

The fear o' hell's the hangman's whip
To laud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel read more

The fear o' hell's the hangman's whip
To laud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your honor grip,
Let that aye be your border.

What's a' your jargon o' your schools,
Your Latin names for horns and stools;
If honest nature read more

What's a' your jargon o' your schools,
Your Latin names for horns and stools;
If honest nature made you fools.

Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and bare,
The desert read more

Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and bare,
The desert were a paradise
If thou wert there, if thou were there.

Yon rose-buds in the morning-dew,
How pure amang the leaves sae green!

Yon rose-buds in the morning-dew,
How pure amang the leaves sae green!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
read more

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne?