Give me but one hour of Scotland,
Let me see it ere I die.
- William read more

Give me but one hour of Scotland,
Let me see it ere I die.
- William Edmondstoune Aytoun,

It requires a surgical operation to get a joke well into a Scotch
understanding.

It requires a surgical operation to get a joke well into a Scotch
understanding.

In short, he and the Scotch have no way of redeeming the credit
of their understandings, but by avowing read more

In short, he and the Scotch have no way of redeeming the credit
of their understandings, but by avowing that they have been
consummate villains. Stavano bene; per star meglio, stanno qui.

In all my travels I never met with any one Scotchman but what was
a man of sense. I read more

In all my travels I never met with any one Scotchman but what was
a man of sense. I believe everybody of that country that has
any, leaves it as fast as they can.

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat's;-
If there's a hole in read more

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat's;-
If there's a hole in a' your coats,
I rede you tent it:
A chield's amang you takin notes,
And, faith, he'll prent it.

The Scots are poor, cries surly English pride;
True is the charge, nor by themselves denied.
Are read more

The Scots are poor, cries surly English pride;
True is the charge, nor by themselves denied.
Are they not then in strictest reason clear,
Who wisely come to mend their fortunes here?

That knuckle-end of England--that land of Calvin, oat-cakes, and
sulphur.

That knuckle-end of England--that land of Calvin, oat-cakes, and
sulphur.

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent;
Long read more

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent;
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content.

Now the summer's in prime
Wi' the flowers richly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme
read more

Now the summer's in prime
Wi' the flowers richly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme
A' the moorlands perfuming.
To own dear native scenes
Let us journey together,
Where glad innocence reigns
'Mang the braes o' Balquhither.