"I don't think you can be a Scot and not admire Burns," says Sir Menzies Campbell, until recently leader of the Liberal Democrats at Westminster, "for he seems to me to sum up so much of the Scottish character." He says poems such as Tam o' Shanter or Holy Willie's Prayer can perhaps almost become cliches through frequent airings, "but they are very rich things to savour and they shouldn't necessarily be galloped through between the haggis and the shortbread"

The opening...
When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
And getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps and styles,
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.

A little further on ...
But to our tale: Ae market-night,
Tam had got planted unco right;
Fast by an ingle bleezing finely,
Wi reaming swats that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter;
And aye the ale was getting better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favours secret, sweet and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did'na mind the storm a whistle.

And, after the excitements at Kirk Alloway, the final moral ...
Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son take heed:
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joy's o'er dear,
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.