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

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.

It's guid to be merry and wise, It's guid to be honest and true, It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, And bide by the buff and the blue!

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.

Only a few industrious Scots perhaps, who indeed are dispersed over the face of the whole earth. But as for them, there are no greater friends to Englishmen and England, when they are out on't, in the world, than they are. And for my own part, I would a hundred thousand of them were there for we are all one countrymen now, ye know, and we should find ten times more comfort of them there than we do here.

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?

Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom Nor forced him wander, but confine him home.

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

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.

O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand!

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

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

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.

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.