Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)

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Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 12

by Robert Burns


  He skirl’d out, encore! 55

  But up arose the martial chuck,

  An’ laid the loud uproar.

  Air

  Tune— “Sodger Laddie.”

  I once was a maid, tho’ I cannot tell when,

  And still my delight is in proper young men;

  Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 60

  No wonder I’m fond of a sodger laddie,

  Sing, lal de lal, &c.

  The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,

  To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;

  His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, 65

  Transported I was with my sodger laddie.

  But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch;

  The sword I forsook for the sake of the church:

  He ventur’d the soul, and I risked the body,

  ‘Twas then I proved false to my sodger laddie. 70

  Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,

  The regiment at large for a husband I got;

  From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,

  I askèd no more but a sodger laddie.

  But the peace it reduc’d me to beg in despair, 75

  Till I met old boy in a Cunningham fair,

  His rags regimental, they flutter’d so gaudy,

  My heart it rejoic’d at a sodger laddie.

  And now I have liv’d — I know not how long,

  And still I can join in a cup and a song; 80

  But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,

  Here’s to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie.

  Recitativo

  Poor Merry-Andrew, in the neuk,

  Sat guzzling wi’ a tinkler-hizzie;

  They mind’t na wha the chorus teuk, 85

  Between themselves they were sae busy:

  At length, wi’ drink an’ courting dizzy,

  He stoiter’d up an’ made a face;

  Then turn’d an’ laid a smack on Grizzie,

  Syne tun’d his pipes wi’ grave grimace. 90

  Air

  Tune— “Auld Sir Symon.”

  Sir Wisdom’s a fool when he’s fou;

  Sir Knave is a fool in a session;

  He’s there but a ‘prentice I trow,

  But I am a fool by profession.

  My grannie she bought me a beuk, 95

  An’ I held awa to the school;

  I fear I my talent misteuk,

  But what will ye hae of a fool?

  For drink I would venture my neck;

  A hizzie’s the half of my craft; 100

  But what could ye other expect

  Of ane that’s avowedly daft?

  I ance was tied up like a stirk,

  For civilly swearing and quaffin;

  I ance was abus’d i’ the kirk, 105

  For towsing a lass i’ my daffin.

  Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,

  Let naebody name wi’ a jeer;

  There’s even, I’m tauld, i’ the Court

  A tumbler ca’d the Premier. 110

  Observ’d ye yon reverend lad

  Mak faces to tickle the mob;

  He rails at our mountebank squad, —

  It’s rivalship just i’ the job.

  And now my conclusion I’ll tell, 115

  For faith I’m confoundedly dry;

  The chiel that’s a fool for himsel’,

  Guid L — d! he’s far dafter than I.

  Recitativo

  Then niest outspak a raucle carlin,

  Wha kent fu’ weel to cleek the sterlin; 120

  For mony a pursie she had hooked,

  An’ had in mony a well been douked;

  Her love had been a Highland laddie,

  But weary fa’ the waefu’ woodie!

  Wi’ sighs an’ sobs she thus began 125

  To wail her braw John Highlandman.

  Air

  Tune— “O, an ye were dead, Guidman.”

  A Highland lad my love was born,

  The Lalland laws he held in scorn;

  But he still was faithfu’ to his clan,

  My gallant, braw John Highlandman. 130

  Chorus

  Sing hey my braw John Highlandman!

  Sing ho my braw John Highlandman!

  There’s not a lad in a’ the lan’

  Was match for my John Highlandman.

  With his philibeg an’ tartan plaid, 135

  An’ guid claymore down by his side,

  The ladies’ hearts he did trepan,

  My gallant, braw John Highlandman.

  Sing hey, &c.

  We rangèd a’ from Tweed to Spey, 140

  An’ liv’d like lords an’ ladies gay;

  For a Lalland face he fearèd none, —

  My gallant, braw John Highlandman.

  Sing hey, &c.

  They banish’d him beyond the sea. 145

  But ere the bud was on the tree,

  Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,

  Embracing my John Highlandman.

  Sing hey, &c.

  But, och! they catch’d him at the last, 150

  And bound him in a dungeon fast:

  My curse upon them every one,

  They’ve hang’d my braw John Highlandman!

  Sing hey, &c.

  And now a widow, I must mourn 155

  The pleasures that will ne’er return:

  The comfort but a hearty can,

  When I think on John Highlandman.

  Sing hey, &c.

  Recitativo

  A pigmy scraper wi’ his fiddle, 160

  Wha us’d at trystes an’ fairs to driddle.

  Her strappin limb and gausy middle

  (He reach’d nae higher)

  Had hol’d his heartie like a riddle,

  An’ blawn’t on fire. 165

  Wi’ hand on hainch, and upward e’e,

  He croon’d his gamut, one, two, three,

  Then in an arioso key,

  The wee Apoll

  Set off wi’ allegretto glee 170

  His giga solo.

  Air

  Tune— “Whistle owre the lave o’t.”

  Let me ryke up to dight that tear,

  An’ go wi’ me an’ be my dear;

  An’ then your every care an’ fear

  May whistle owre the lave o’t. 175

  Chorus

  I am a fiddler to my trade,

  An’ a’ the tunes that e’er I played,

  The sweetest still to wife or maid,

  Was whistle owre the lave o’t.

  At kirns an’ weddins we’se be there, 180

  An’ O sae nicely’s we will fare!

  We’ll bowse about till Daddie Care

  Sing whistle owre the lave o’t.

  I am, &c.

  Sae merrily’s the banes we’ll pyke, 185

  An’ sun oursel’s about the dyke;

  An’ at our leisure, when ye like,

  We’ll whistle owre the lave o’t.

  I am, &c.

  But bless me wi’ your heav’n o’ charms, 190

  An’ while I kittle hair on thairms,

  Hunger, cauld, an’ a’ sic harms,

  May whistle owre the lave o’t.

  I am, &c.

  Recitativo

  Her charms had struck a sturdy caird, 195

  As weel as poor gut-scraper;

  He taks the fiddler by the beard,

  An’ draws a roosty rapier —

  He swoor, by a’ was swearing worth,

  To speet him like a pliver, 200

  Unless he would from that time forth

  Relinquish her for ever.

  Wi’ ghastly e’e poor tweedle-dee

  Upon his hunkers bended,

  An’ pray’d for grace wi’ ruefu’ face, 205

  An’ so the quarrel ended.

  But tho’ his little heart did grieve

  When round the tinkler prest her,

>   He feign’d to snirtle in his sleeve,

  When thus the caird address’d her: 210

  Air

  Tune— “Clout the Cauldron.”

  My bonie lass, I work in brass,

  A tinkler is my station:

  I’ve travell’d round all Christian ground

  In this my occupation;

  I’ve taen the gold, an’ been enrolled 215

  In many a noble squadron;

  But vain they search’d when off I march’d

  To go an’ clout the cauldron.

  I’ve taen the gold, &c.

  Despise that shrimp, that wither’d imp, 220

  With a’ his noise an’ cap’rin;

  An’ take a share with those that bear

  The budget and the apron!

  And by that stowp! my faith an’ houp,

  And by that dear Kilbaigie, 225

  If e’er ye want, or meet wi’ scant,

  May I ne’er weet my craigie.

  And by that stowp, &c.

  Recitativo

  The caird prevail’d — th’ unblushing fair

  In his embraces sunk; 230

  Partly wi’ love o’ercome sae sair,

  An’ partly she was drunk:

  Sir Violino, with an air

  That show’d a man o’ spunk,

  Wish’d unison between the pair, 235

  An’ made the bottle clunk

  To their health that night.

  But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft,

  That play’d a dame a shavie —

  The fiddler rak’d her, fore and aft, 240

  Behint the chicken cavie.

  Her lord, a wight of Homer’s craft,

  Tho’ limpin wi’ the spavie,

  He hirpl’d up, an’ lap like daft,

  An’ shor’d them Dainty Davie 245

  O’ boot that night.

  He was a care-defying blade

  As ever Bacchus listed!

  Tho’ Fortune sair upon him laid,

  His heart, she ever miss’d it. 250

  He had no wish but — to be glad,

  Nor want but — when he thirsted;

  He hated nought but — to be sad,

  An’ thus the muse suggested

  His sang that night. 255

  Air

  Tune— “For a’ that, an’ a’ that.”

  I am a Bard of no regard,

  Wi’ gentle folks an’ a’ that;

  But Homer-like, the glowrin byke,

  Frae town to town I draw that.

  Chorus

  For a’ that, an’ a’ that, 260

  An’ twice as muckle’s a’ that;

  I’ve lost but ane, I’ve twa behin’,

  I’ve wife eneugh for a’ that.

  I never drank the Muses’ stank,

  Castalia’s burn, an’ a’ that; 265

  But there it streams an’ richly reams,

  My Helicon I ca’ that.

  For a’ that, &c.

  Great love Idbear to a’ the fair,

  Their humble slave an’ a’ that; 270

  But lordly will, I hold it still

  A mortal sin to thraw that.

  For a’ that, &c.

  In raptures sweet, this hour we meet,

  Wi’ mutual love an’ a’ that; 275

  But for how lang the flie may stang,

  Let inclination law that.

  For a’ that, &c.

  Their tricks an’ craft hae put me daft,

  They’ve taen me in, an’ a’ that; 280

  But clear your decks, and here’s— “The Sex!”

  I like the jads for a’ that.

  Chorus

  For a’ that, an’ a’ that,

  An’ twice as muckle’s a’ that;

  My dearest bluid, to do them guid, 285

  They’re welcome till’t for a’ that.

  Recitativo

  So sang the bard — and Nansie’s wa’s

  Shook with a thunder of applause,

  Re-echo’d from each mouth!

  They toom’d their pocks, they pawn’d their duds, 290

  They scarcely left to co’er their fuds,

  To quench their lowin drouth:

  Then owre again, the jovial thrang

  The poet did request

  To lowse his pack an’ wale a sang, 295

  A ballad o’ the best;

  He rising, rejoicing,

  Between his twa Deborahs,

  Looks round him, an’ found them

  Impatient for the chorus. 300

  Air

  Tune— “Jolly Mortals, fill your Glasses.”

  See the smoking bowl before us,

  Mark our jovial ragged ring!

  Round and round take up the chorus,

  And in raptures let us sing —

  Chorus

  A fig for those by law protected! 305

  Liberty’s a glorious feast!

  Courts for cowards were erected,

  Churches built to please the priest.

  What is title, what is treasure,

  What is reputation’s care? 310

  If we lead a life of pleasure,

  ‘Tis no matter how or where!

  A fig for, &c.

  With the ready trick and fable,

  Round we wander all the day; 315

  And at night in barn or stable,

  Hug our doxies on the hay.

  A fig for, &c.

  Does the train-attended carriage

  Thro’ the country lighter rove? 320

  Does the sober bed of marriage

  Witness brighter scenes of love?

  A fig for, &c.

  Life is al a variorum,

  We regard not how it goes; 325

  Let them cant about decorum,

  Who have character to lose.

  A fig for, &c.

  Here’s to budgets, bags and wallets!

  Here’s to all the wandering train. 330

  Here’s our ragged brats and callets,

  One and all cry out, Amen!

  Chorus

  A fig for those by law protected!

  Liberty’s a glorious feast!

  Courts for cowards were erected, 335

  Churches built to please the priest.

  Chronological List of Poems

  Alphabetical List of Poems

  81.

  For a’ that (Song)

  Tune— “For a’ that.”

  THO’ women’s minds, like winter winds,

  May shift, and turn, an’ a’ that,

  The noblest breast adores them maist —

  A consequence I draw that.

  Chorus

  For a’ that, an’ a’ that, 5

  And twice as meikle’s a’ that;

  The bonie lass that I loe best

  She’ll be my ain for a’ that.

  Great love I bear to a’ the fair,

  Their humble slave, an’ a’ that; 10

  But lordly will, I hold it still

  A mortal sin to thraw that.

  For a’ that, &c.

  But there is ane aboon the lave,

  Has wit, and sense, an’ a’ that; 15

  A bonie lass, I like her best,

  And wha a crime dare ca’ that?

  For a’ that, &c.

  In rapture sweet this hour we meet,

  Wi’ mutual love an’ a’ that, 20

  But for how lang the flie may stang,

  Let inclination law that.

  For a’ that, &c.

  Their tricks an’ craft hae put me daft.

  They’ve taen me in, an’ a’ that; 25

  But clear your decks, and here’s— “The Sex!”

  I like the jads for a’ that.

  For a’ that, &c.

  Chronological List of Poems

  Alphabetical List of Poems

  82.

  Kissing my Katie (Song)

  Tune— “The bob o’ Dumblane.”

  O MER
RY hae I been teethin’ a heckle,

  An’ merry hae I been shapin’ a spoon;

  O merry hae I been cloutin’ a kettle,

  An’ kissin’ my Katie when a’ was done.

  O a’ the lang day I ca’ at my hammer, 5

  An’ a’ the lang day I whistle and sing;

  O a’ the lang night I cuddle my kimmer,

  An’ a’ the lang night as happy’s a king.

  Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins

  O’ marrying Bess, to gie her a slave: 10

  Blest be the hour she cool’d in her linnens,

  And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave!

  Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie;

  O come to my arms and kiss me again!

  Drucken or sober, here’s to thee, Katie! 15

  An’ blest be the day I did it again.

  Chronological List of Poems

  Alphabetical List of Poems

  83.

  The Cotter’s Saturday Night

  Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq.

  “Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,

  Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;

  Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,

  The short and simple annals of the Poor.

  GRAY.

  MY lov’d, my honour’d, much respected friend!

  No mercenary bard his homage pays;

  With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end,

  My dearest meed, a friend’s esteem and praise:

  To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 5

  The lowly train in life’s sequester’d scene,

 

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