DEAR SIR, at ony time or tide,
I’d rather sit wi’ you than ride,
Though ’twere wi’ royal Geordie:
And trowth, your kindness, soon and late,
Aft gars me to mysel’ look blate—
The Lord in Heav’n reward ye!R. BURNS.ELLISLAND.
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When I go to a bar, I don't go looking for a girl who knows the capital of Maine.
by Patience Worth
Ah, make me less that I become more Thee.
Make me not humble, but meek.
Make my meekness nay an weakness
But an armor.
Cloak my frailness o' Thy love.
Thereby shall all that I do lack me