TOASTS TO WOMEN, LOVE, FRIENDSHIP, ETC.
A cozy but, and a cantie ben
To couthie women and trusty men.
An honest man may like a glass,
An honest man may like a lass,
But mean revenge, an’ malice fause,
He’ll still disdain.
And fill them high with generous juice,
As generous as your mind;
And pledge me in the generous toast—
“The whole of human kind!”
And here’s to a’ in barley bree,
Oursel’s and a’ the warld thegither,
To a’ wha luve the kilted knee,
Or bonnie lasses in the heather.
And pray a’ guid things may attend
you!
And the sands shall sing,
And the round world ring,
With my love and thy love for me.
And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one
This happy harmony would make them none.
But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions,
With bloody armaments and revolutions;
Let Majesty your first attention summon,
Ah ça ira! the Majesty of Woman!
But ye whom social pleasure charms,
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms,
Who hold your being on the terms,
“Each aid the others,”
Come to my bowl, come to my arms,
My friends, my brothers!
Drink ye to her that each loves best.
Fill me with the rosy wine,
Call a toast, a toast divine,
Give the poet’s darling flame,
Lovely —— be the name,
Then thou mayest freely boast
Thou hast given a peerless toast.
Farewell the glen sae bushy, O!
Farewell the plain sae rushy, O!
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland lassie, O!
For a’ that and a’ that,
It’s coming yet for a’ that—
That man to man the warld o’er
Shall brithers be for a’ that.
For me, I’m woman’s slave confessed—
Without her, hopeless and unblessed.
For there’s nae luck about the house,
There’s nae luck at a’;
There’s little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman’s awa’.
Go to your sculptur’d tombs, ye Great,
In a’ the tinsel trash o’ state!
But by thy honest turf I’ll wait,
Thou Man of worth!
And weep the ae best fellow’s fate
E’er lay in earth.
Here’s a health to ane I lo’e dear,
Here’s a health to ane I lo’e dear;
Thou art as sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,
And soft as their parting tear—Jessy!
Here’s a bottle and an honest friend!
What wad ye wish for mair, man?
Wha kens, before his life may end,
What his share may be of care, man?
Then catch the moments as they fly,
And use them as ye ought, man:—
Believe me, happiness is shy,
And comes not aye when sought, man.
Here’s to him who winna’ beguile
ye.
Here’s a health to the ladies at hame,
Here’s a health to the ladies awa’,
And wha winna pledge wi’ all their soul
May they never be smiled on at a’.
Here’s health to the bright eyes at hame,
Here’s health to the bright eyes awa’,
Here’s health to the beauties of every clime,
And may we be smiled on by a’.
Here’s to the friends we can trust
When the storms of adversity blaw;
May they live in our song and be nearest our hearts
Nor depart like the year that’s awa’.
Here’s to the year that’s awa’,
We’ll drink it, in strong and in sma’;
And here’s to the bonnie young lassie in love
While swift flies the year that’s awa’.
Here’s to them that loe’s us, or
lends us a lift.
Here’s to woman—she requires
no eulogy—she can speak for herself.
Here’s to you, as good as you are,
And here’s to me, as bad as I am;
But as good as you are and as bad as I am
I’m as good as you are, as bad as I am.
Honest men and bonnie lassies.
I hae been blythe wi’ comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinkin’;
I hae been joyfu’ gath’ring gear;
I hae been happy thinkin’;
But a’ the pleasures e’er I saw,
Tho’ three times doubled fairly,
That happy night was worth them a’
Amang the rigs o’ barley.
It warms me, it charms me,
To mention but her name,
It heats me, it beats me,
And sets me a’ on flame.
Jessie, the flower of Dumblane.
Mair friends and less need o’ them.
May the hand of charity wipe the
tear from the eye of sorrow.
May the friends of our youth be the
companions of our old age.
May the honest heart never feel
distress.
May the hinges o’ friendship never
rust or the wings o’ love lose a feather.
May ne’er waur be amang us.
May we a’ be canty and cosy
And ilk hae a wife in his bosy.
Let’s drink our drap o’ barley bree,
Though moon and stars should blink thegither,
To each leal lad wi’ kilted knee,
And bonnie lass amang the heather.
May never wicked fortune touzle him!
May never wicked men bamboozle him!
Until a pow as auld’s Methusalem
He canty claw!
Then to the blessed New Jerusalem,
Fleet wing awa!
O! love! love! laddie.
Love’s like a dizziness!
It winna let a puir body
Gang about his business.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min’?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o’ lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot
Sin auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidl’t i’ the burn,
From mornin’ sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin auld lang syne.
And here’s a hand, my trust fiere,
And gie’s a hand o’ thine;
And we’ll tak a right guid willie-waught,
For auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stoup,
And surely I’ll be thine;
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
The de’il rock them in a creel that
does na’ wish us a’ weel.
The Ingle neuk wi’ routh o’ bannocks
and bairns.
The social friendly honest man,
Whae’er he be,
’Tis he fulfils great Nature’s plan,
And none but he.
The Highland lads and Lowland
lassies.
The Lowland fare and the Highland
lassies.
Then fill a bowl, and while we drink
We’ll rivet closer friendship’s link,
Till joy rin o’er and care deep sink,
Beneath the whirling wave o’t.
Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour,
There dwelt no joy in Eden’s rosy bower.
To a’ Scots lassies.
To our next merry meeting.
Thumping luck and fat weans.
To see her is to love her,
And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is.
And ne’er made sic anither!
This is a good world to live in,
To lend to spend or to give in,
But to get or to borrow or keep what’s one’s own
’Tis the very worst world that ever was known.
To those who love us, second fill;
But not to those whom we love:
Lest we love those who love not us!
A third—“to thee and me, Love!”
While highlandmen hate tolls and taxes;
While muirlan’ herds like guid fat braxies;
While terra firma, on her axis
Diurnal turns,
Count on a friend, in faith an’ practice,
In Robert Burns.
While waters wimple to the sea;
While day blinks in the lift sae hie;
Till clay-cauld death shall blin’ my e’e,
Ye shall be aye my dearie.
Whilst we together jovial sit
Careless, and crowned with mirth and wit,
We’ll think of all the friends we know
And drink to all worth drinking to!