Ye Hypocrites, Are These Your

If There 's A Hole In A' Your Coats, I Rede Ye Tent It; A Chiel 's Amang Ye Takin' Notes, And, Faith, He 'll Prent It.

My Son, These Maxims Make A Rule An Lump Them Ay Thegither: The Rigid Righteous Is A Fool, The Rigid Wise Anither.

My Dear, My Native Soil! For Whom My Warmest Wish To Heav'n Is Sent, Long May Thy Hardy Sons Of Rustic Toil Be Blest With Health, And Peace, And Sweet Content!

Some Rhyme A Neebor's Name To Lash; Some Rhyme (vain Thought!) For Needfu' Cash; Some Rhyme To Court The Countra Clash, An' Raise A Din; For Me, An Aim I Never Fash; I Rhyme For Fun.

Some Books Are Lies Frae End To End.