The trout in yonder wimpling burn - That glides, a silver dart, - And, safe beneath the shady thorn, - Defies the anglers art.

Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain.

Gin a body meet a body Coming thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body— Need a body cry?

Painters and poets have liberty to lie.

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!

Morality, thou deadly bane, Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain! Vain is his hope, whose stay an' trust is In moral mercy, truth, and justice!

The best laid plans take 40 years to complete.