by Robert Burns
1 Anna L. Barbauld, English radical poet (1743–1825).
2 David Herd (d. 1810).
3 A castle by North Berwick.
Love and Liberty:
A Cantata
or The Jolly Beggars
First printed by Stewart and Meikle, Glasgow, 1799.
RECITATIVO
When lyart leaves bestrow the yird, withered, ground
Or, wavering like the Bauckie-bird,1
Bedim cauld Boreas’ blast; cold, the North Wind
When hailstanes drive wi’ bitter skyte, -stones, lash
5 And infant Frosts begin to bite,
In hoary cranreuch drest; hoar frost
Ae night at e’en a merry core one, evening, crowd
O’ randie, gangrel bodies, disorderly vagrants
In Poosie-Nansie’s2 held the splore, merry meeting
10 To drink their orra duddies: spare rags
Wi’ quaffing, and laughing,
They ranted an’ they sang;
Wi’ jumping, an’ thumping,
The vera girdle rang. very, iron baking plate
15 First, niest the fire, in auld red rags, next, old
Ane sat; weel brac’d wi’ mealy bags, one, well – oat meal
And knapsack a’ in order;
His doxy lay within his arm; lassie
Wi’ USQUEBAE an’ blankets warm, whisky
20 She blinket on her Sodger: leered
An’ ay he gies the tozie drab gives, tipsy
The tither skelpan kiss, smacking
While she held up her greedy gab mouth
Just like an aumous dish: wooden alms dish
25 Ilk smack still, did crack still, each
Just like a cadger’s whup; beggar’s whip
Then swaggering, an’ staggering,
He roar’d this ditty up —
Air – Tune: SOLDIER ’S JOY
I am a Son of Mars who have been in many wars,
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come;
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.
5 Lal de daudle, etc.
My Prenticeship I past, where my LEADER breath’d his last,
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of ABRAM;1
And I served out my TRADE when the gallant game was play’d,
And the MORO2 low was laid at the sound of the drum.
10 I lastly was with Curtis3 among the floating batt’ries,
And there I left for witness, an arm and a limb;
Yet let my Country need me, with ELLIOT4 to head me
I’d clatter on my stumps at the sound of the drum.
And now tho’ I must beg with a wooden arm and leg,
15 And many a tatter’d rag hanging over my bum,
I’m as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my Callet, lass
As when I us’d in scarlet to follow a drum.
What tho,’ with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks,
Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home,
20 When the tother bag I sell and the tother bottle tell,
I could meet a troop of HELL at the sound of a drum.
RECITATIVO
He ended; and the kebars sheuk, rafters shook
Aboon the chorus roar; above
While frighted rattons backward leuk, rats, look
An’ seek the benmost bore: innermost hole
5 A fairy FIDDLER frae the neuk, corner
He skirl’d out, ENCORE.
But up arose the martial CHUCK, soldier’s whore
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 dadie,
No wonder I’m fond of a SODGER LADDIE. soldier
5 Sing lal de dal, &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,
Transported I was with my SODGER LADDIE.
10 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 prov’d false to my SODGER LADDIE.
Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified Sot,
15 The Regiment AT LARGE for a HUSBAND I got;
From the gilded SPONTOON to the FIFE I was ready;
I asked no more but a SODGER LADDIE.
But the Peace it reduc’d me to beg in despair,
Till I met my old boy in a CUNNINGHAM Fair;
20 His RAGS REGIMENTAL they flutter’d so gaudy:
My heart it rejoic’d at a SODGER LADDIE.
And now I have lived — I know not how long,
But still I can join in a cup and a song;
And whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,
25 Here’s to thee, MY HERO, MY SODGER LADDIE!
RECITATIVO
Poor Merry-Andrew in the neuk, corner
Sat guzzling wi’ a Tinkler-hizzie; -girl
They mind’t na wha the chorus teuk, not who
Between themselves they were sae busy:
5 At length wi’ drink an’ courting dizzy,
He stoiter’d up an’ made a face; staggered
Then turn’d an’ laid a smack on Grizzie, kiss
Syne tun’d his pipes wi’ grave grimace — then
Air – Tune: auld s ir symon
Sir Wisdom’s a fool when he’s fou; drunk
Sir Knave is a fool in a Session,
He ’s there but a prentice, I trow, trust/know
But I am a fool by profession.
5 My Grannie she bought me a beuk, book
An’ I held awa to the school; away
I fear I my talent misteuk, mistook
But what will ye hae of a fool. have
For drink I wad venture my neck; would
10 A hizzie ’s the half of my Craft: wench
But what could ye other expect
Of ane that’s avowedly daft. one, half-witted
I ance was ty’d up like a stirk once, tied, bullock
For civilly swearing and quaffing;
15 I ance was abus’d i’ the kirk, once
For towsing a lass i’ my daffin. touching up, fun
Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,
Let nae body name wi’ a jeer; nobody
There’s even, I’m tauld, i’ the Court told
20 A Tumbler ca’d the Premier. called
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.
25 And now my conclusion I’ll tell,
For faith I’m confoundedly dry:
The chiel that’s a fool for himsel, fellow
Guid Lord, he’s far dafter than I.
RECITATIVO
Then niest outspak a raucle Carlin, next, sturdy woman
Wha kent fu’ weel to cleek the Sterlin; who knew well, steal money
For mony a pursie she had hooked, many
An’ had in mony a well been douked: many, ducked
5 Her LOVE had been a HIGHLAND
LADDIE,
But weary fa’ the waefu’ woodie! fall, woeful gallows
Wi’ sighs an’ sobs she thus began
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; lowland
But he still was faithfu’ to his clan,
My gallant, braw JOHN HIGHLANDMAN. fine
Chorus
5 Sing hey 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, kilt
10 An’ guid Claymore down by his side, good broadsword
The ladies’ hearts he did trepan, ensnare
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey my braw &c.
We ranged a’ from Tweed to Spey,
An’ liv’d like lords an’ ladies gay:
15 For a lalland face he feared none, lowland
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey my braw &c.
They banish’d him beyond the sea,
But ere the bud was on the tree,
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
20 Embracing my John Highlandman.
Sing hey my braw &c.
But Och! they catch’d him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast,
My curse upon them every one,
They’ve hang’d my braw John Highlandman!
Sing hey my braw &c.
25 And now a Widow I must mourn
The Pleasures that will ne’er return;
No comfort but a hearty can,
When I think on John Highlandman.
Sing hey my braw &c.
RECITATIVO
A pigmy Scraper wi’ his Fiddle,
Wha us’d to trystes an’ fairs to driddle, cattle market, play
Her strappan limb an’ gausy middle, strong, buxom
(He reach’d nae higher) no
5 Had hol’d his HEARTIE like a riddle, sieve
An’ blawn’t on fire. blown it
Wi’ hand on hainch, and upward e’e, haunch
He croon’d his gamut, ONE, TWO, THREE, whispered
Then in an ARIOSO key, melodious
10 The wee Apollo
Set off wi’ ALLEGRETTO glee paced but graceful
His GIGA SOLO —
Air Tune: whistle owre the lave o’t
Let me ryke up to dight that tear, reach, wipe
An’ go wi’ me an’ be my DEAR;
An’ then your every CARE an’ FEAR
May whistle owre the lave o’t. over, remainder
Chorus
5 I am a Fiddler to my trade,
An’ a’ the tunes that e’er I play’d,
The sweetest still to WIFE or MAID
Was Whistle Owre the Lave O’t.
At KIRNS an’ WEDDINS we’se be there, harvest homes
10 An’ O sae nicely’s we will fare! so
We’ll bowse about till Dadie Care booze/drink
Sing Whistle Owre the Lave O’t.
I am a &c.
Sae merrily the banes we’ll pyke, so, bones, pick
An’ sun oursells about the dyke; stone wall
15 An’ at our leisure, when ye like
We’ll whistle owre the lave o’t.
I am a &c.
But bless me wi’ your heav’n o’ charms,
An’ while I kittle hair on thairms, move bow-hair, catgut
HUNGER, CAULD, an’ a’ sic harms cold, such
20 May whistle owre the lave o’t.
I am a &c.
RECITATIVO
Her charms had struck a sturdy CAIRD, gypsy
As weel as poor GUTSCRAPER; well, fiddler
He taks the Fiddler by the beard,
An’ draws a roosty rapier — rusty sword
5 He swoor by a’ was swearing worth swore
To speet him like a Pliver, spit, plover
Unless he would from that time forth
Relinquish her for ever:
Wi’ ghastly e’e poor TWEEDLEDEE eye
10 Upon his hunkers bended, knees
An’ pray’d for grace wi’ ruefu’ face,
An’ sae the quarrel ended; so
But tho’ his little heart did grieve,
When round the TINKLER prest her,
15 He feign’d to snirtle in his sleeve snigger
When thus the CAIRD address’d her —
Air – Tune: CLOUT THE CAULDRON
My bonie lass I work in brass,
A TINKLER is my station; tinker
I’ve travell’d round all Christian ground
In this my occupation;
5 I’ve taen the gold an’ been enroll’d taken
In many a noble squadron;
But vain they search’d when off I march’d
To go an’ clout the CAUDRON. mend, cauldron
I’ve taen the gold &c.
10 Despise that SHRIMP, that wither’d IMP,
With a’ his noise an’ cap’rin; capering
An’ take a share, wi’ those that bear
The budget and the apron!
And by that STOWP! my faith an’ houpe, cup, hope
15 And by that dear KILBAIGIE1
If e’er ye want, or meet wi’ scant,
May I ne’er weet my CRAIGIE! wet, throat
And by that STOWP &c. cup
RECITATIVO
The Caird prevail’d — th’ unblushing fair gypsy
In his embraces sunk;
Partly wi’ LOVE o’ercome sae sair, so sore
An’ partly she was drunk:
5 Sir VIOLINO with an air,
That show’d a man o’ spunk, mettle/strength
Wish’d UNISON between the PAIR,
An’ made the bottle clunk clink
To their health that night.
10 But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft, urchin
That play’d a DAME a shavie — trick
The Fiddler RAK’D her FORE and AFT, had sex with
Behint the Chicken cavie: hen-coop
Her lord, a wight of HOMER’s craft,2
15 Tho’ limpan wi’ the Spavie, spavin
He hirpl’d up an’ lap like daft, limped, leaped
An’ shor’d them DAINTY DAVIE played
O’ boot that night. for free
He was a care-defying blade,
20 As ever BACCHUS listed!
Tho’ Fortune sair upon him laid, sore
His heart, she ever miss’d it.
He had no WISH but — to be glad,
Nor WANT but — when he thristed; thirsted
25 He hated nought but — to be sad,
An’ thus the Muse suggested
His sang that night.
Tune: FOR A’ THAT, AN’ A ’ THAT
I AM a BARD of no regard,
Wi’ gentle folks an’ a’ that;
But HOMER LIKE the glowran byke, staring crowd
Frae town to town I draw that. from
Chorus
5 For a’ that an’ a’ that,
An’ twice as muckle’s a’ that, much as
I’ve lost but ANE, I’ve TWA behin’, one
I’ve WIFE ENEUGH for a’ that. enough
I never drank the MUSES’ STANK, fountain
10 Castalia’s burn an’ a’ that,
But there it streams an’ richly reams, froths
My HELICON I ca’ that.
Great love I bear to a’ the FAIR,
Their humble slave an’ a’ that;
15 But lordly WILL, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that. frustrate
In raptures sweet this hour we meet,
Wi’ mutual love an’ a’ that;
But for how lang the FLIE MAY STANG, fly, sting
20 Let INCLINATION law that.
Their tricks an’ craft hae put me daft, have
They’ve taen me in, an’ a’ that, taken
But clear your decks, an’ here’s the SEX!
I like the jads for a’ that. jades
25 For a’ that an’ a’ that
An’ twice as muckle’s a’ that, much as
My DEAREST BLUID to do them guid, blood, good
They’re welcome till ‘t for a’ that!
RECITATIVO
So sung the BARD — and Nansie�
��s wa’s walls
Shook with a thunder of applause
Re-echo’d from each mouth!
They toom’d their pocks, they pawn’d their duds, emptied pockets, clothes
5 They scarcely left to coor their fuds cover, behinds
To quench their lowan drouth:
Then owre again the jovial thrang over, crowd
The Poet did request
To lowse his PACK an’ wale a sang, untie, select
10 A BALLAD o’ the best.
He, rising, rejoicing
Between his TWA DEBORAHS, two
Looks round him, an’ found them
Impatient for the Chorus.
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