by Robert Burns
The staff o’ bread,
5 May ye ne’er want a stoup o’ bran’y cup, brandy
To clear your head.
May Boreas never thresh your rigs, the North wind
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, corn rigs, off
Sendin’ the stuff o’er muirs an’ haggs moors, bogs
10 Like drivin wrack; storm-blown seaweed
But may the tapmast grain that wags topmast, blows
Come to the sack. cloth sack/bag
I’m bizzie too, an’ skelpin at it, busy, striking
But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it, pelting, have wet
15 Sae my auld stumpie-pen I gat it so, old, short-, got
Wi’ muckle wark, much work
An’ took my jocteleg an’ whatt it knife, whittled
Like onie clark. any, clerk
It’s now twa month that I’m your debtor, two
20 For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, fine
Abusin me for harsh ill nature
On holy men,
While deil a hair yoursel ye’re better, devil, yourself
But mair profane. more
25 But let the kirk-folk ring their bells,
Let’s sing about our noble sel’s; selves
We’ll cry nae jads frae heathen hills no, goddesses, from
To help, or roose us, rouse
But browster wives an’ whisky stills, brewer
30 They are the Muses.
Your friendship sir, I winna quat it, will not quit
An’ if ye mak’ objections at it, make
Then hand in nieve some day we’ll knot it, fist, shake hands
An’ witness take,
35 An’ when wi’ Usquabae we’ve wat it whisky, wet
It winna break. will not
But if the beast and branks be spar’d bridles
Till kye be gaun without the herd, cattle, going
And a’ the vittel in the yard, victual/corn
40 An’ theeckit right, thatched
I mean your ingle-side to guard fire-
Ae winter night. one
Then Muse-inspirin’ aqua-vitae water of life
Shall mak us baith sae blythe an’ witty, both so
45 Till ye forget ye’re auld an’ gutty, old, fat
And be as canty jolly
As ye were nine year less than thretty, thirty
Sweet ane an’ twenty! one
But stooks are cowpet wi’ the blast, corn bundles, knocked over
50 And now the sinn keeks in the west, sun, peeps, west
Then I maun rin amang the rest must run among
An’ quat my chanter; quit, writing poetry
Sae I subscribe mysel in haste, so
Yours, RAB THE RANTER.
While this is a certainly briefer, perhaps slighter poem than the two epistles to Lapraik which Burns chose to publish, it is a fine poem in itself. Dealing with his second Mauchline harvest, the poem, as always, is careful to detail farm life, not least its difficulties. There is also, characteristically, a joking allusion to what was certainly a shared antipathy to Auld Licht churchmen (ll. 21–4) and a notion common to Burns (ll. 27–30) that his energising muse is local not foreign. The poem ends abruptly as the poet runs in the gathering dark to help save the wind-blown stooks. Kinsley notes the source of this, one of many, pseudonyms as derived from Frances Sempill’s popular Maggie Lauder, ll. 13–16 (Ritson, ii.p. 325):
For I’m a piper to my trade,
My name is Rob the Ranter,
The lasses loup as they were daft,
When I blaw up my chanter.
The double-edged appeal of this image to Burns need not be elucidated.
To The Rev. John M’math
Inclosing A Copy Of Holy Willie’s Prayer
Sept. 17, 1785
First published by Cromek, 1808.
WHILE at the stook the shearers cow’r corn sheaves, bend down
To shun the bitter blaudin’ show’r, shelter, belting
Or in gulravage rinnin scow’r horseplay, running, rush about
To pass the time,
5 To you I dedicate the hour
In idle rhyme.
My musie, tir’d wi’ mony a sonnet many
On gown, an’ ban’, an’ douse black bonnet, clerical robes, sombre
Is grown right eerie now she’s done it, frightened
10 Lest they should blame her,
An’ rouse their holy thunder on it
And anathem her. curse
I own ’twas rash, an’ rather hardy,
That I, a simple, countra Bardie, country
15 Should meddle wi’ a pack sae sturdy, so
Wha, if they ken me, who, know
Can easy, wi’ a single wordie, word
Louse Hell upon me. let loose
But I gae mad at their grimaces, go
20 Their sighan, cantan, grace-prood faces, hypocritical, -proud
Their three-mile prayers, an’ hauf-mile graces, half-
Their raxan conscience, stretching
Whase greed, revenge, an’ pride disgraces whose
Waur nor their nonsense. worse than
25 There’s Gau’n,1 miska’t waur than a beast, miscalled, worse
Wha has mair honor in his breast who,
Than mony scores as guid’s the priest many, good as
Wha sae abus’t him: who so, abused
And may a Bard no crack his jest
30 What way they’ve use’t him?
See him, the poor man’s friend in need,
The gentleman in word an’ deed,
An’ shall his fame an’ honor bleed
By worthless skellums, scoundrels
35 An’ not a Muse erect her head
To cowe the blellums? threaten, bullies
O Pope, had I thy satire’s darts
To gie the rascals their deserts, give
I’d rip their rotten, hollow hearts,
40 An’ tell aloud
Their jugglin hocus-pocus arts
To cheat the crowd.
God knows, I’m no the thing I should be, not
Nor am I even the thing I cou’d be,
45 But twenty times, I rather would be
An atheist clean,
Than under gospel colors hid be
Just for a screen.
An honest man may like a glass,
50 An honest man may like a lass,
But mean revenge, an’ malice fause false
He ’ll still disdain,
An’ then cry zeal for gospel laws,
Like some we ken. know
55 They take Religion in their mouth;
They talk o’ Mercy, Grace, an’ Truth,
For what? —To gie their malice skouth give, play
On some puir wight, poor
An’ hunt him down, o’er right an’ ruth, pity
60 To ruin streight. straight
All hail, Religion! maid divine!
Pardon a Muse sae mean as mine, so
Who in her rough imperfect line
Thus daurs to name thee; dares
65 To stigmatize false friends of thine
Can ne’er defame thee.
Tho’ blotch’t and foul wi’ mony a stain, many
An’ far unworthy of thy train,
With trembling voice I tune my strain
70 To join with those,
Who boldly dare thy cause maintain
In spite of foes:
In spite o’ crowds, in spite o’ mobs,
In spite of undermining jobs,
75 In spite o’ dark banditti stabs bandit-like
At worth an’ merit,
By scoundrels, even wi’ holy robes
But hellish spirit.
O Ayr! my dear, my native ground,
80 Within thy presbytereal bound
A candid lib’ral band is found
Of public teachers,
As men, as Christians too renown’d
> An’ manly preachers.
85 Sir, in that circle you are nam’d;
Sir, in that circle you are fam’d;
An’ some, by whom your doctrine’s blam’d
(Which gies ye honor) gives
Even Sir, by them your heart’s esteem’d,
90 An’ winning manner.
Pardon this freedom I have ta’en, taken
An’ if impertinent I’ve been,
Impute it not, good Sir, in ane one
Whase heart ne’er wrang’d ye, whose, wronged
95 But to his utmost would befriend
Ought that belang’d ye. anything, belonged to
Previous editors note that John McMath (d. 1825), a native of Galston, graduated M. A. at Glasgow in 1772, and was ordained assistant and successor (1782) to Patrick Wodrow, minister of Tarbolton. He was, like Wodrow, a ‘New Licht’ moderate. He ‘unhappily-fell into low spirits, in consequence of his dependent situation, and he became dissipated’ (Chambers–Wallace, i. 193). In 1791 he resigned and enlisted as a private soldier.
The poem was obviously written to accompany ‘Holy Willie’s Prayer’ combining as it does Burns’s examination of his own capacity to take on such a formidable enemy (ll. 13–18) with a further defence (ll. 25–41) of Holy Willie’s arch-enemy, Gavin Hamilton. His wish for Pope’s satirical power to assault the Auld Lichts is not an empty one; this poem is as fine as anything Burns wrote on their perverted, hypocritical Christianity. Also it resonates (ll. 73–8) with images similar to those anti-clerical ones found in Blake’s Songs of Experience though he and his great English contemporary knew nothing of each other’s work.
For the relationship of Burns to Blake, see Catherine Carswell, ‘Robert Burns’, in From Anne to Victoria, ed. Bonamy Dobree (London, 1937), pp. 405–21; Leopold Damrosch, ‘Burns, Blake and the Recovery of the Lyric’, Studies in Romanticism, 21 (Winter, 1982), pp. 637–60 and Andrew Noble, ‘Burns, Blake and Romantic Revolt’, The Art of Robert Burns, ed. Jack & Noble (London, 1982), pp. 191–204.
1 Gavin Hamilton.
The Mauchline Wedding
First printed by Wallace, 1896.
When Eighty-five was seven months auld, old
And wearing thro’ the aught, eighth
When rolling rains and Boreas bauld north wind, bold/stormy
Gied farmer-folks a faught; gave, fight
5 Ae morning quondam Mason Will,1 one
Now Merchant Master Miller,
Gaed down to meet wi’ Nansie Bell2 went
And her Jamaica siller, money
To wed, that day. —
10 The rising sun o’er Blacksideen3
Was just appearing fairly,
When Nell and Bess4 get up to dress
Seven lang half-hours o’er early! long
Now presses clink and drawers jink,
15 For linnens and for laces;
But modest Muses only think
What ladies’ under dress is,
On sic a day. — such
But we’ll suppose the stays are lac’d,
20 And bony bosom steekit; handsome, held firmly
Tho’, thro’ the lawn — but guess the rest —
An Angel scarce durst keekit: would look
Then stockins fine, o’ silken twine,
Wi’ cannie care are drawn up; prudent
25 An’ gartened tight, whare mortal wight — where
………………………5
But now the gown wi’ rustling sound,
Its silken6 pomp displays;
Sure there’s nae sin in being vain no
O’ siccan bonie claes! such pretty clothes
Sae jimp the waist, the tail sae vast — so narrow, behind so
Trouth, they were bonie Birdies!
O Mither Eve, ye wad been grave would have
To see their ample hurdies buttocks
Sae large that day!!! so
Then Sandy7 wi’s red jacket bra’, with his, fine
Comes, whip-jee-whoa! about, whipping to stop the horses
And in he gets the bonie twa — two
Lord, send them safely out!
And auld John Trot8 wi’ sober phiz old, face
As braid and bra’s a Bailie, broad, fine
His shouthers and his Sunday’s giz shoulders, wig
Wi’ powther and wi’ ulzie powder, oil
Weel smear’d that day….9 well
Burns sent this poem to Mrs Dunlop on 21st August, 1788 with this note: ‘You would know an Ayr-shire lad, Sandy Bell who made a Jamaica fortune, & died sometime ago. –AWilliam Miller, formerly a Mason, nowa Merchant in this place, married a sister german of Bell’s for the sake of a £500 her brother had left her.–ASister of Miller’swho was then Tenant of my heart for the time being, huffed my Bardship in the pride of her new Connection; & I, in the heat of my resentment resolved to burlesque the whole business, & began as follows’ (Letter 265). Implicit in the burlesque is the brilliant formal joke of situating these prosperous bourgeois in the context of the poetic, Breughelesque peasant brawl form used in The Holy Fair. As Galt’s novels also testify, money from imperial enterprise was flooding into Scotland; these were the upwardly mobile, showy ‘nabobs’. Dress, especially women’s dress, reflected this excess consumption. Regarding the protuberances (ll. 30–4) Kinsley notes cf. Creech, who was later to be Burns’s publisher: ‘Spinal tenuity and mamillary exuberance, have for some time been the fashion with the fair, but a posterior rotundity, or a balance was wanting behind; and you may now tell the country lasses if they wish to be fashionable, they must resemble two blown bladders tied together at the necks’ (S. Maxwell and R. Hutchison, Scottish Costume 1550–1850, 1958, pp. 89–90). Burns’s apparent forgetfulness of that below-the-belt comment of l. 27 was undoubtedly devised to save Mrs Dunlop from further offence.
1 William Miller, a friend of Burns in Mauchline.
2 Nansie Bell, who inherited £500 from her brother who died in Jamaica, married Wm. Miller.
3 A hill. R.B.
4 Miller’s two sisters. R.B. [Elizabeth and Helen].
5 As I never wrote it down, my recollection does not entirely serve me. – R.B. Ms.
6 The ladies’ first silk gowns, got for the occasion. R.B
7 Driver of the post chaise. R.B.
8 Miller’s father. R.B.
9 Against my Muse had come thus far, Miss Bess and I were more in Unison, so I thought no more of the Piece. R.B. Ms.
Poem on Pastoral Poetry
First published by Currie, 1800.
Hail, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv’d!
In chase o’ thee, what crowds hae swerv’d pursuit, have
Frae Common Sense, or sunk enerv’d from
’Mang heaps o’ clavers; nonsense
5 And och! o’er aft thy joes hae starv’d often, lovers, have
’Mid a’ thy favours!
Say, Lassie, why thy train amang, among
While loud the trumps heroic clang, noise
And Sock and buskin skelp alang drama symbols, move briskly
10 To death or marriage;
Scarce ane has tried the Shepherd-sang one, -song
But wi’ miscarriage?
In Homer’s craft Jock Milton thrives;
Eschylus’ pen Will Shakespeare drives;
15 Wee Pope, the knurlin, till him rives dwarf, clutches
Horatian fame;
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld1, survives
Even Sappho’s flame.
But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? who
20 They’re no Herd’s2 ballats, Maro’s catches;
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches smartens up, shining
O’ Heathen tatters: fragments
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, hundreds
That ape their betters. imitate
25 In this braw age o’ wit and lear, fine, knowledge
Will nane the Shepherd’s whistle mair none, more
Blaw sweetly in its n
ative air blow
And rural grace,
And wi’ the far-fam’d Grecian share
30 A rival place?
Yes! there is ane; a Scottish callan! one, fellow
There’s ane: come forrit, honest Allan! one, forward
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, not hide behind, partition
A chiel sae clever; chap so
35 The teeth o’ Time may gnaw Tamtallan,3 chew/turn to rubble
But thou’s for ever.
Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, old
In thy sweet Caledonian lines;
Nae gowden stream thro’ myrtles twines no golden, meanders
40 Where Philomel,
While nightly breezes sweep the vines,
Her griefs will tell!
Thy rural loves are Nature’s sel’; self
Nae bombast spates o’ nonsense swell; no, floods
45 Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell no
O’ witchin loove,
That charm that can the strongest quell,
The sternest move.
In gowany glens thy burnie strays, flowery, burn
50 Where bonie lasses bleach their claes; pretty, clothes
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes bushes, hill sides
Wi’ hawthorns gray,
Where blackbirds join the shepherd’s lays
At close o’ day.
Ultimately, rightly authenticated by Kinsley, there had been doubt about this being by Burns. Despite a holograph, Gilbert Burns thought it not his brother’s in the amended Currie edition of 1820. Scott–Douglas (1867) and Henley–Henderson (1896) repeated the old chestnut of Burns’s classic knowledge being inadequate to the poem’s range of allusion. The image of the restricted ploughman poet dies hard. In actual fact no Scottish vernacular voice in the late eighteenth century spoke with this degree and, indeed, intelligent ease of allusion. See, for example, the compressed comparisons (ll. 13–18) between classical and English literary achievement. Given as we now know that Burns not only avidly read about the classical world but transcribed parts of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall, as surviving holograph notes in the Wisbech and Fenland Museum reveal. The poem’s range of allusion is easily within his range. Characteristic of him, too, is the notion that post-Ramsay, there is a potential in the Scottish vernacular to achieve a quality of realistic pastoral poetry not achieved since the golden days of Greece. Certainly Wordsworth, trying himself to break through to a new plain rural speech, considered Burns had got there before him. See Andrew Noble ‘Wordsworth and Burns: The Anxiety of Being under the Influence’, in Critical Essays on Robert Burns, ed. McGuirk, GK. Hall (1998), pp. 49–62.