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			 The noblest prospect which a Scotchman ever sees is the high-road 
that leads him to England.  
	 The noblest prospect which a Scotchman ever sees is the high-road 
that leads him to England. 
		
 
	
			 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. 
		
 
	
			 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? 
		
 
	
			 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. 
		
 
	
			 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. 
		
 
	
			 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. 
		
 
	
			 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, 
		
 
	
			 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.