Poem by Robert Burns

Epigram («When ––– , deceased, to the devil went down…»)

When ––– , deceased, to the devil went down,
’Twas nothing would serve him but Satan’s own crown;
‘Thy fool’s head,’ quoth Satan, ‘that crown shall wear never,
I grant thou’rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.’

1. Their Groves O’ sweet Myrtle
2. The Bonnie Wee Thing
3. As Down the Burn They Took Their Way
4. Gala Water
5. Stay My Charmer

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