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,