Robert Burns

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.

There's some are fou o' love divine,
There's some are fou' o' brandy.

There's some are fou o' love divine,
There's some are fou' o' brandy.

Then horn for horn they stretch and strive;
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive.

Then horn for horn they stretch and strive;
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive.

O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I.

O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I.

I'll be merry and free,
I'll be sad for nae-body;
If nae-body cares for me,
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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.