Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.

Liberty's in every blow! Let us do or die.

Pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed.

God knows, I'm not the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be, But twenty times I rather would be An atheist clean, Than under gospel colours hid be Just for a screen.

Their sighing, canting, grace-proud faces, their three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces.

Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit.

Nature's law, That man was made to mourn. Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn! O Death, the poor man's dearest friend, The kindest and the best!