Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae farewell, alas, forever! - Robert Burns

While we sit bousin, at the nappy,
And gettin fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

Here's freedom to him who would read;

Here's freedom to him who would write;

None ever feared that the truth should be heard,

But them that the truth would indict.

But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love forever.