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The Hairst O Rettie

I hae seen the hairst o' Rettie, lads,

And twa-three aff the throne.

I've heard o sax and seven

The hairsters girn and groan.

But wi' a covie Willie RaeA monthie an' a

Sends a' the jolly

Singin' blithely doon the brae.

In a monthie an' a day, my lads,

The like was never seen;

It beats to sticks the fastest stripsO' Vickers' best machine.

The Speedwell she taks up the rear,

The Victory clears the way;

And twenty acres daily yields,

Laid doon tae Willie Rae.

He drives them roond and roond the

At sic an awfu' rate:

Yet guides them gently oot and

At mony's a kittle gate.

And wiles them gently ow'r the

And mony a hidden hole,

And he'll come by nae

If ye leave him wi' a pole.

O he sharps their teeth tae gar them bite;

He taps them on the jaws,

And if he sees them dowie-like,

He'll brawly ken the cause:

A boltie here, or a pinnie there,

Tae keep them aye in tune;

He'll quickly stop their wild career,

And bring the clishack doon.

O he whittles aff the corners,

And makes crookit bitties straucht,

He likes to see that man and

Are equal in a draucht,

An' a' the corners neat an'

And nae a shafe agley;

And he'll coont wi' ony

Frae the Deveron tae the Spey.

Noo he's nae made up wi' mony

Or kent tae puff and lee,

But just as keen a little

As ony you will see.

And if you're in search o hairvest

Upon a market day,

Take my advice, be there in

And look for Willie Rae.

Noo he hae got it in aboot,

An' a wer things be ticht,

We'll gaither roond the festal

Tae spend a joyfae nicht;

Wi' Scottish sangs and mutton

Tae charm our cares away;

We'll drink success tae Rettie,

And my bandster Annie Maclean.

Noo afore I end my hamely screed,

I canna weel

The gentle dames that guards the

And keeps the folk in maet.

Lang may they bile the

And stir the porridge weel.

An may never need or want for

Tae keep the timmer hale.

Noo here's tae a' ye Rettie blades,

A ringin' cheer - Hurra!

A better lot o' workin' chapsA gaffer never saw.

They're aye sae willin' for tae pairt,

And eager for the

It was them that made the boatie row,

That was steer'd by Willie Rae.

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Robert Burns

Robert Burns (25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796), also known familiarly as Rabbie Burns, the National Bard, Bard of Ayrshire and the Ploughman Poet…

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