The Canongate Burns

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by Robert Burns


  The flesh to him the broo to me, broth

  An’ the horns become your brow, gudeman. —

  Chorus for the final verse

  Sing round about the fire wi’ a rung she ran, cudgel

  An round about the fire wi’ a rung she ran:

  15 Your horns shall tie you to the staw, stall

  An I shall bang your hide, gudeman.—

  This is the poet’s revision of a song in the Herd Collection (1769). It is printed unsigned, which suggests that the changes by Burns were minimal to this song of violent female sexual aggression.

  Tam Lin

  First printed by Johnson, 1796.

  O I forbid you, maiden’s a’ all

  That wear gowd on your hair, gold

  To come, or gae by Carterhaugh, go

  For young Tom-lin is there.

  5 There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh none, goes

  But they leave him in a wad; pledge/bargain

  Either their rings, or green mantles,

  Or else their maidenhead.

  Janet has kilted her green kirtle, petticoat

  10 A little aboon her knee; above

  And she has broded her yellow hair braided

  A little aboon her bree; above, brow

  And she’s awa to Carterhaugh, away

  As fast as she can hie. run

  15 When she cam to Carterhaugh

  Tom-lin was at the well,

  And there she fand his steed standing found

  But away was himsel.

  She had na pu’d a double rose, not pulled

  20 A rose but only tway, two

  Till up then started young Tom-lin,

  Says, Lady, thou’s pu’ nae me. pull not

  Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet, pulls

  And why breaks thou the wand?

  25 Or why thou comes to Carterhaugh

  Withoutten my command? without

  Carterhaugh is my ain, own

  Ma daddie gave it me; my

  I’ll come and gang by Carterhaugh go

  30 And ask nae leave at thee. no

  Janet has kilted her green kirtle petticoat

  A little aboon her knee, above

  And she has snooded her yellow hair, put in a band

  A little aboon her bree, above, brow

  35 And she is to her father’s ha, hall

  As fast as she can hie. run

  Four and twenty ladies fair

  Were playing at the ba, ball

  And out them cam the fair Janet,

  40 Ance the flower amang them a’. once, among, all

  Four and twenty ladies fair

  Were playing at the chess,

  And out then cam the fair Janet,

  As green as onie glass. any

  45 Out then spak an auld grey knight, spoke, old

  Lay o’er the castle-wa, -wall

  And says, Alas, fair Janet for thee

  But we’ll be blamed a’.

  Haud your tongue ye auld-fac’d knight, hold, old-

  50 Some ill death may ye die,

  Father my bairn on whom I will, child

  I’ll father nane on thee. none

  Out then spak her father dear, spoke

  And he spak meek and mild,

  55 And ever alas, sweet Janet, he says,

  I think thou gaes wi’ child. goes

  If that I gae wi’ child, father, go

  Myself maun bear the blame; shall

  There’s ne’er a laird about your ha, hall

  60 Shall get the bairn’s name. child’s

  If my Love were an earthly knight,

  As he’s an elfin grey;

  A wad na gie my ain true-love would not give, own

  For nae lord that ye hae. no, have

  65 The steed that my true-love rides on,

  Is lighter than the wind;

  Wi’ siller he is shod before, silver

  Wi’ burning gowd behind. gold

  Janet has kilted her green kirtle petticoat

  70 A little aboon the knee; above

  And has snooded her yellow hair braided

  A little aboon her bree; brow

  And she’s awa to Carterhaugh away

  As fast as she can hie. go

  75 When she cam to Carterhaugh

  Tom-lin was at the well;

  And there she fand his steed standing, found

  But away was himsel.

  She had na pu’d a double rose had not pulled

  80 A rose but only tway, two

  Till up then started young Tom-lin,

  Say’s Lady thou pu’s nae mae. pulls not more

  Why pu’s thou the rose Janet,

  Amang the groves sae green, among, so

  85 And a’ to kill the bonie babe

  That we gat us between. begot

  O tell me, tell me, Tom-lin she says,

  For ’s sake that died on tree,

  If e’er ye was in holy chapel,

  90 Or Christendom did see.

  Roxbrugh he was my grandfather,

  Took me with him to bide,

  And ance it fell upon a day once

  That wae did me betide. woe

  95 Ance it fell upon a day, once

  A cauld day and a snell, cold, bitter

  When we were frae the hunting come from

  That frae my horse I fell. from

  The queen o’ Fairies she caught me,

  100 In yon green hill to dwell,

  And pleasant is the fairy-land;

  But, an eerie tale to tell! strange

  Ay at the end of seven years

  We pay a tiend to hell; tithe/fee

  105 I am sae fair and fu’ o flesh so, full

  I’m fear’d it be mysel. afraid

  But the night is Halloween, lady,

  The morn is Hallowday;

  Then win me, win me, an ye will,

  110 For weel I want ye may. well

  Just at the mirk and midnight hour darkest

  The fairy folk will ride;

  And they that wad their truelove win, would

  At Milescross they maun bide. must stay

  115 But how shall I thee ken, Tom-lin, know

  O how my truelove know,

  Amang sae mony unco knights so, strange

  The like I never saw.

  O first let pass the black, Lady,

  120 And syne let past the brown; then

  But quickly run to the milk-white steed,

  Pu’ ye his rider down: pull

  For I’ll ride on the milk-white steed,

  And ay nearest the town;

  125 Because I was an earthly knight

  They gie me that renown. give

  My right hand will be glov’d, Lady,

  My left hand will be bare;

  Cockt up shall my bonnet be,

  130 And kaim’d down shall my hair; combed

  And thae’s the tokens I gie thee, these are, give

  Nae doubt I will be there. no

  They’ll turn me in your arms, Lady,

  Into an asp and adder, viper

  135 But hald me fast and fear me not, hold

  I am your bairn’s father. child’s

  They’ll turn me to a bear sae grim, so

  And then a lion bold;

  But hold me fast and fear me not,

  140 As ye shall love your child.

  Again they’ll turn me in your arms

  To a red het gaud of airn; hot bar of iron

  But hold me fast and fear me not,

  I’ll do to you nae harm. no

  145 And last they’ll turn me, in your arms,

  Into the burning lead;

  Then throw me into well-water,

  O throw me in wi’ speed!

  And then I’ll be your ain truelove, own

  150 I’ll turn a naked knight:

  Then cover me wi’ your green mantle,

  And cover me out o sight.

  Gloomy, gloomy was the night,

&nbs
p; And eerie was the way, strange

  155 As fair Jenny in her green mantle

  To Milescross she did gae. go

  About the middle o’ the night

  She heard the bridles ring;

  This lady was as glad at that

  160 As any earthly thing.

  First she let the black pass by,

  And syne she let the brown; then

  But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,

  And pu’d the rider down pulled

  165 Sae weel she minded what he did say so well

  And young Tom-lin did win;

  Syne cover’d him wi’ her green mantle then

  As blythe’s a bird in spring.

  Out then spak the queen o’ Fairies, spoke

  170 Out of a bush o’ broom;

  Them that has gotten young Tom-lin

  Has gotten a stately groom.

  Out then spak the queen o’ Fairies,

  And an angry queen was she;

  175 Shame betide her ill-fard face, -farrowed

  And an ill death may she die,

  For she’s ta’en awa the boniest knight taken away

  In a’ my companie.

  But had I kend, Tom-lin, she says, known

  180 What now this night I see,

  I wad hae ta’en out thy twa grey een, would have taken, two, eyes

  And put in twa een o’ tree. two eyes, wood

  This is based on a traditional ballad from the sixteenth century. Burns probably saw the short version of the original work in Herd’s collection (1769), but it is more likely that he adapted and improved this from one of the longer versions known to have been collected by his close friend Robert Riddell of Glenriddell who was, inter alia, an antiquarian. Burns once used the pen-name Thomas A. Linn in a newspaper edition of his poem, Elegy on the Year 1788. Carterhaugh is near Selkirk.

  Had I the Wyte

  Tune: Come Kiss with me, Come Clap with me

  First printed in Johnson, 1796.

  Had I the wyte, had I the wyte, were I to blame

  Had I the wyte, she bade me;

  She watch’d me by the hie-gate-side, high road

  And up the loan she shaw’d me; lane, showed

  5 And when I wadna venture in, would not

  A coward loon she ca’d me: fool

  Had Kirk and State been in the gate, way

  I’d lighted when she bade me.—

  Sae craftilie she took me ben, so, in

  10 And bade me mak nae clatter; make no noise

  ‘For our ramgunshoch, glum Goodman ill-tempered, surly

  Is o’er ayont the water:’ beyond

  Whae’er shall say I wanted grace, whoever, lacked

  When I did kiss and dawte her, fondle

  15 Let him be planted in my place,

  Syne, say, I was the fautor.— then, one at fault

  Could I for shame, could I for shame,

  Could I for shame refus’d her;

  And wadna Manhood been to blame, would not

  20 Had I unkindly used her:

  He claw’d her wi’ the ripplin-kame, wool-comb

  And blae and bluidy bruis’d her; blue

  When sic a husband was frae hame, such, from

  What wife but wad excus’d her? would

  25 I dighted ay her een sae blue, wiped, eyes so

  An’ bann’d the cruel randy; scoundrel

  And weel I wat her willin mou well, know, mouth

  Was e’en like succarcandie. sugarcandy

  At gloamin-shote it was, I wot, early evening, know

  30 I lighted on the Monday;

  But I cam thro’ the Tiseday’s dew Tuesday’s

  To wanton Willie’s brandy. —

  This is adapted by Burns from an old song included in the Herd collection (1769). It was signed ‘Z’ in the S.M.M.A bawdy version was collected by Burns and included in the Merry Muses of Caledonia.

  Comin Thro’ the Rye

  Tune: Miller’s Wedding

  First printed in Johnson, 1796.

  COMIN thro’ the rye, poor body, wheat-like grass

  Comin thro’ the rye,

  She draigl’t a’ her petticoatie made a mess of

  Comin thro’ the rye.

  Chorus

  5 Oh Jenny’s a’ weet, poor body, wet

  Jenny’s seldom dry;

  She draigl’t a’ her petticoatie, made a mess of

  Comin thro’ the rye.

  Gin a body meet a body if

  10 Comin thro’ the rye,

  Gin a body kiss a body

  Need a body cry.

  Oh Jenny’s &c

  Gin a body meet a body

  Comin thro’ the glen;

  15 Gin a body kiss a body,

  Need the warld ken! world know

  Oh Jenny’s &c

  On publication, Johnson’s headnote reads: ‘Written for this work by Robert Burns’. It is not, though, a wholly original work. It is partly taken from a folksong in Thomas Mansfield’s collection begun in 1770. An English version, entered in Stationers Hall, London, for June 1796 reads, ‘If a body meet a body, /Going to the Fair’. A further, more crude version exists in the Merry Muses.

  The Rowin ’t in Her Apron

  First printed in Johnson, 1796.

  OUR young lady’s a huntin gane, gone

  Sheets nor blanket haes she ta’en, has, taken

  But she’s born her auld son or she cam hame, old, before, home

  And she’s row’d him in her apron. — rolled/wrapped

  5 Her apron was o’ the hollan fine, linen from Holland

  Laid about wi’ laces nine;

  She though it a pity her babe should tyne, perish

  And she’s row’d him in her apron. —

  Her apron was o’ the hollan sma,

  10 Laid about wi’ laces a’,

  She thought it a pity her babe to let fa,

  And she row’d him in her apron. —

  Her father says within the ha’ hall

  Amang the knights and nobles a’ among, all

  15 I think I hear a babie ca, call

  In the chamber amang our young ladies. — among

  O father dear it is a bairn, child

  I hope it will do you nae harm., no

  For the daddie I lo’ed, and he’ll lo’e me again, loved

  20 For the rowin ’t in my apron. — rolling it

  O is he a gentleman, or is he a clown,

  That has brought thy fair body down,

  I would not for a’ this town

  The rowin ’t in the apron. —

  25 Young Terreagles he’s nae clown,

  He is the toss of Edinborrow town, toast, Edinburgh

  And he’ll buy me a braw new gown, fine

  For the rowin ’t in my apron. —

  Its I hae castles, I hae towers, have

  30 I hae barns, I hae bowers,

  A’ that is mine it shall be thine,

  For the rowin ’t in thy apron. —

  This song is about the problems of Jacobite families in the wake of the 1715 rebellion. Lord John Maxwell was ‘Young Terreagles’. It was printed anonymously on publication. Burns is supposed to have collected this song from an unidentified person in the vicinity of Dumfries, possibly one of the Highland Fencible soldiers stationed there during the mid-1790s.

  Kinsley’s remark implies that he should not have accepted the work to the canon, ‘I am inclined to take it as an alternative collected version, and not Burns’s revision’ (Vol. III, p. 1503). Mackay merely assumes the poet made corrections and includes it. However, given there are two manuscript copies, it is surely unlikely that the bard would have written it out twice without making some ammendments and improvements.

  Charlie He’s My Darling

  Tune: Charlie, He’s My Darling

  First printed in S.M.M. December, 1796.

  ’TWAS on a Monday morning,

  Right early in the year,

  That Charlie c
ame to our town,

  The Young Chevalier. —

  Chorus

  5 An’ Charlie he’s my darling, my darling, my darling,

  Charlie he’s my darling, the Young Chevalier. —

  As he was walking up the street,

  The city for to view,

  O there he spied a bonie lass

  10 The window looking thro’. —

  An’ Charlie he’s &c

  Sae light’s he jimped up the stair, so, jumped

  And tirl’d at the pin; knocked, latch

  And wha sae ready as hersel who so

  To let the laddie in. —

  An’ Charlie he’s &c

  15 He set his Jenny on his knee,

  All in his Highland dress;

  For brawlie weel he kend the way finely well, knew

  To please a bonie lass. —

  An’ Charlie he’s &c

  It’s up yon heathery mountain,

  20 And down yon scroggy glen, scrubby

  We daurna gang a milking, dare not go

  For Charlie and his men. —

  An’ Charlie he’s &c

  Here, Burns has taken an old street song from the mid-1770s and grafted to it a Jacobite theme. The bard’s success in this fine lyric was adapted after his death by Caroline Oliphant (1766–1845). See Life and Songs of the Baroness Nairne: With a Memoir and Poems of Caroline Oliphant the Younger, ed. Rev. Charles Rogers (1869), pp. 125–6. The first verse and chorus are very similar to Burns’s version. Like all of the poet’s lyrics on the Jacobite theme, this song was unsigned in the S.M.M. The young Chevalier is, of course, Charles Edward Stewart.

 

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