Law or lust is to blame
When love’s chokit up
—It comes a’ to the same.
In this sorry growth
Whatna beauty is tint
That freed o’t micht find
A waur fate than is in’t?...
Yank oot your orra boughs, my hert!
God gied man speech and speech created thocht,
He gied man speech but to the Scots gied nocht