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As it happens, "My luv's like a red, red rose" was written by Robbie Burns, a couple of centuries after Shakespeare. Oh, well. 16th century English playwright, 18th century Scottish poet: What's the diff?

An Englishman is being shown around a Scottish hospital. At the end of the tour he is shown into a ward with a number of patients who show no signs of injury.

He goes to examine the first man he sees, and the man proclaims
"Fair fa' yer honest sonsie face
Great chieftain o' the puddin' race!"

The Englishman, somewhat taken aback, goes to the next patient, who immediately launches into:
"Some hae meat, and canna eat, and some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat and we can eat, and sae the Lord be thankit."

The next patient sits up and declaims:
"Wee sleekit cow'rin tim'rous beastie,
O what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, wi' bickering bl'attle.
I wad be laith to run and chase thee, wi' murdering prattle."

"Well" says the Englishman to his Scottish colleague "I see you saved the psychiatric ward for the last".

"No, no" the Scottish doctor corrects him "This is the Serious Burns Unit!"