In durance vile here must I wake and weep, And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep.

If there's another world, he lives in bliss; If there is none, he made the best of this.

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.

God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be.

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.

All for myself the sigh would swell, The tear of anguish start; I little knew what wilder woe Had filled the Poet's heart. I did not know the nights of gloom, …

Dearest, I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of these terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voice…