Scots Have Long Memories, And They're Not

It Was A Beautiful Bright Autumn Day, With Air Like Cider And A Sky So Blue You Could Drown In It.

Why, What's The Matter Wi' The Poor Child?" She Demanded Of Jamie. "has She Had An Accident O' Some Sort?" "no, It's Only She's Married Me," He Said, "though If Ye Care To Call It An Accident, Ye May.

Through Eons Of Living In A Land So Poor There Was Little To Eat But Oats, They Had As Usual Converted Necessity Into A Virtue, And Insisted That They Liked The Stuff.

While Ye Sleep In My Arms, I Can Say Things To Ye That Would Be Daft And Silly Waking, And Your Dreams Will Know The Truth Of Them.

Oh, Aye, Sassenach. I Am Your Master . . . And You're Mine. Seems I Canna Possess Your Soul Without Losing My Own.