by Robert Burns
Here’s His Health in Water
Tune: The Job o Journey Wark
First printed in the Merry Muses of Caledonia, 1959.
Altho’ my back be at the wa’ wall
An’ tho’ he be the fau’tor; at fault
Altho’ my back be at the wa’,
I’ll drink his health in water.
5 O wae gae by his wanton sides, sadly go
See brawly’s he cou’d flatter. so finely
I for his sake am slighted sair, sore
An’ dree the kintra clatter; dread country gossip
But let them say whate’er they like
10 Yet, here’s his health in water.
He follow’d me baith out and in, both
Thro’ a’ the nooks o Killie; winds, Kilmarnock
He follow’d me baith out and in, both
Wi’ a stiff stanin’ pillie standing penis
15 But when he gat atween my legs, got between
We made an unco splatter; odd splash
An’ haith, I trow, I soupled it, oath, pledge, softened
Tho’ baudly he did blatter; boldly, work hard
But now my back is at the wa’, wall
20 Yet here’s his health in water.
This is essentially the complete version of a song Burns wrote for the S.M.M. Only the first, ‘clean’ stanza appeared in Johnson’s volume in 1796. Regarding the first stanza, it was a symbolic Jacobite ritual to toast Charles Edward Stewart across a bowl of water, given that the exiled King was physically ‘o’er the water’ in France, until his death in 1790. ‘To a Scots critic,’ says Burns in the interleaved copy of S.M.M., the pathos of the line ‘Tho his back be at the wa’ must be very striking. It needs not a Jacobite prejudice to be affected with this song.’
The Jolly Gauger
Tune: We’ll Gang Nae Mair a Rovin’
There was a jolly gauger, a gauging he did ride,
And he has met a beggar down by yon river side.
An’ we’ll gang nae mair a rovin’ wi’ ladies to the wine, go no more
When a beggar wi’ her meal-pocks can fidge her tail sae fine. -bags, shake
5 Amang the broom he laid her; amang the broom sae green, among so
And he’s fa’n to the beggar, as she had been a queen. fallen
An’ we’ll gang nae mair &c.
My blessings on thee laddie, thou’s done my turn sae weel, so well
Wilt thou accept, dear laddie, my pock and pickle meal? little
An’ we’ll gang nae mair &c.
10 Sae blyth the beggar took the bent, like ony bird in Spring, over the hill
Sae blyth the beggar took the bent, and merrily did sing.
An’ we’ll gang nae mair &c.
My blessings on the gauger, o’ gaugers he’s the chief. exciseman
Sic kail ne’er crost my kettle, nor sic a joint o’ beef. such cabbage
An’ we’ll gang nae mair &c.
This is generally accepted as a song partly improved by Burns but not entirely his own composition. For a detailed argument, see De Lancey Ferguson’s essay in Modern Philology, XXX, 1932, pp. 53–60. ‘Kail’ at l. 12 refers to semen; ‘beef’ implies penis.
Gie the Lass Her Fairin’
Tune: Cauld Kail in Aberdeen
O gie the lass her fairin’, lad, give, fairground present (sex)
O gie the lass her fairin’, give
An’ something else she’ll gie to you,
That’s waly worth the wearin’; ample, having
5 Syne coup her o’er among the creels, then bend
When ye hae taen your brandy, have taken
The mair she bangs the less she squeels, more, has sex
An’ hey for houghmagandie. sexual intercourse
Then gie the lass a fairin’, lad, give
10 O gie the lass her fairin’,
An’ she’ll gie you a hairy thing,
An’ of it be na sparin’; not
But coup her o’er amang the creels, bend
An’ bar the door wi’ baith your heels, both
15 The mair she gets the less she squeels; more
An’ hey for houghmagandie. sexual intercourse
There is no manuscript evidence for this song, but editors since Scott Douglas (a pencilled note in his private copy of the M.M.C.) have attributed it to Burns without definitive proof. Goodsir Smith and Barke note ‘Quite likely’ (p. 80) and Kinsley concurs ‘almost certainly his work’ (Vol. III, p. 1526). A ‘fairin’ was an exchange of presents from a fairground as a token of love.
PART EIGHT
Undetermined and Rejected Works
Undetermined and Rejected Works
This section contains two categories. First, undetermined poems and songs. Second, those rejected from the canon. Those considered undetermined are listed because the weight of evidence makes the attribution to Burns problematic or reasonably uncertain. A few works placed within the canon may be classified as doubtful but, for specific reasons, they have been included because there is more evidence for provenance than against. The category of old songs merely improved by Burns is one where the canonical line often blurs with Scottish folk tradition. The listing of undetermined or rejected works here is not definitive. We have not tried to list all works that were, at one time, placed in the canon and then rejected by subsequent editors. Where we have disagreed with twentieth-century editors, Kinsley or Mackay, those specific poems are printed or listed with commentary as to their status. Where the evidence is overwhelmingly against Burns’s composition, the text has been left out and only the title mentioned. In a few rejected examples, the text is given to illustrate that some quite atrocious lyrics were attributed to Burns at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century. Unlike the Dubia section in Kinsley’s edition, undated poems which we know to be by Burns are not included here, but placed as close to the date of publication as possible.
UNDETERMINED
At Roslin Inn
First printed in Hogg and Motherwell, 1826.
Version I
My Blessings on ye, Honest Wife,
I ne’er was here before;
But bi my saul as lang’s I live
I’ll ne’er gang by your Door.
Version II
My blessings on ye, honest wife,
I ne’er was here before;
Ye’ve wealth o’ gear for spoon and knife —
Heart could not wish for more.
Heav’n keep you clear o’ sturt and strife,
Till far ayont fourscore,
And by the Lord o’ death and life,
I’ll ne’er gae by your door!
It is believed that at least part of this work was written by Burns after he and Nasmyth the painter had been drinking late in Edinburgh in the early summer of 1787. After walking up Arthur’s Seat to watch the sunrise, they breakfasted at Roslin Inn. The landlady was a Mrs Wilson. Nasmyth recollects that Burns wrote an epigram on the back of the bill. There is no Burns manuscript to prove Nasmyth’s view other than Dewar’s transcript, given as version I.
Version II, which appears first in Hogg and Motherwell, then in Chambers, was supposedly etched on the back of a wooden plate by Burns. Kinsley suggests this second version was probably changed or ‘improved’ by Hogg and Motherwell. The evidence to judge whether version I or II is authentic is heavily based on reminiscence. The shorter version is based directly on Nasmyth’s testimony. It is unlikely that both versions are authentic, unless Burns made a fair copy and developed version I in the process. The first version reads as the more probable.
The Cheerful Man
First printed in the Burns Chronicle, 1935.
The greatness that could make us grave,
Is but an empty thing.
What more than mirth could mortals have;
The cheerful man’s a king.
This is not included in any recent edition. It appears in The Burns Chronicle of 1935 (p. 104). It was supposed
ly in holograph form, on the reverse of a fragment detailing rules of the Tarbolton Bachelor’s Club. The prose notes in which it features were in the hand of David Sillar, the poet’s Ayrshire friend. If genuine, the lines probably date from sometime in 1780. They are in accord with the poet’s embryonic ideals expressed in his First Commonplace Book regarding his classification of various types of personality. The lines were in the Alloway Birthplace Museum during the 1930s but the current Curator, John Manson, has kindly confirmed they no longer exist. Unable to verify the original hand, the lines are considered possibly authentic.
At Brownhill Inn
First printed in Chambers, 1838.
At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer
And plenty of bacon each day in the year;
We’ve a’ thing that’s nice, and mostly in season:
But why always bacon? — come, tell me the reason?
Chambers’ authority for this was merely the word of a traveller. Kinsley accepts it (539). Mackay also accepts it, stating that ‘William Stewart’s sister Catherine married John Bacon in 1782’. Bacon was the landlord of the Brownhill Inn. The English traveller claimed he had dined with Burns. There is no manuscript. While this reminiscence of an unknown traveller may be genuine, it is scarcely a scholarly basis of admitting work to the canon.
On the Destruction of Drumlanrig Woods
Verses: Written on a window shutter of a small country Inn, in Dumfriesshire, supposed to be by R. Burns.
This work appears first in The Scots Magazine, 1803.
As on the banks of winding Nith
Ae smiling simmer morn I stray’d, one
And traced its bonie holms and haughs,
Whar linties sang, and lammies play’d. where, linnets, lambs
5 I sat me down upon a Craig, crag
And drank my fill o’ fancy’s dream,
When, from the eddying deep below
Uprase the Genius o’ the Stream. uprose
Dark like the frowning rock his brow,
10 And troubled like his wintry wave,
And deep as sughs the boding wind noise of breath
Amang his caves the sigh he gave. among
‘And come ye here, my son,’ he said,
‘To wander in my birken shade? birch woods
15 To muse some favourite Scottish theme,
Or sing some favourite Scottish maid?
‘There was a time, it’s nae lang syne, not long ago
Ye might hae seen me in my pride, have
When a’ my banks sae bravely saw so
20 Their woody pictures in my tide.
When hanging beech and spreading elm
Shaded my stream sae clear and cool;
And stately oaks their twisted arms
Threw broad and dark across the pool;
25 ‘When, glinting thro’ the trees, appear’d
Yon wee white cot aboon the mill, above
And peaceful rose its Ingle Reek, fire smoke
That, slowly curling, clamb the hill. climbed
But now the cot is bare and cauld, cold
30 Its leafy bield for ever gane, dress/plumage, gone
And scarce a stinted birk is left birch
To shiver in the blast its lane.’ alone
‘Alas!’ quoth I, ‘what ruefu’ chance
Has twin’d ye o’ your stately trees? taken from you
35 Has laid your rocky bosom bare?
Has stripp’d the cladding aff your braes? clothing
Was it the bitter eastern blast,
That scatters blight in early Spring?
Or was’t the wil’ fire scorch’d their boughs?
40 Or canker-worm wi’ secret sting?’
‘Nae eastlin blast,’ the Sprite replied — no
‘It blaws nae here sae fierce and fell, blows, not, so
And on my dry and halesome banks wholesome
Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell:
45 Man! cruel man!’ the Genius sigh’d,
As through the cliffs he sank him down:
‘The worm that gnaw’d my bonie trees,
That reptile — wears a Ducal crown.’
The subtitle given above is that printed in The Scots Magazine, February 1803, where the poem first appeared. After its first appearance, this work was included in Hogg and Motherwell (1834), Scott Douglas (1876), William Wallace (1896) and Henderson and Henley (1896). It was dropped by Kinsley (1968) and Mackay (1993). Having been rejected from the canon, it is included here because the rationale for omission is not conclusive. Rejection by Mackay et al is based on the claim by Henry Mackenzie, in a letter to Dr James Currie, that he was the author. Mackenzie, though, places himself in a position of little credibility, by first declaring that he made up the story that the poem was by Burns, then announces to Currie that he himself wrote it in order to stop its publication. When it did appear in 1803, there is no evidence that Mackenzie admitted authorship or corrected the apparent error in attribution. As a figure of considerable social standing in Edinburgh, with ardent Pittite Tory views and a pivotal figure of the Highland Society, it is rather incongruous that he would pen the final line against the Duke of Queensbery, ‘That reptile – wears a Ducal crown’. Such a line is far more like Burns than Mackenzie. Indeed, Mackenzie was quick to denounce any poems in Cromek’s 1808 edition of Burns which criticised anyone of rank and title and suggested several works should have been suppressed.
Here is Mackenzie’s letter to Currie of 22nd October, 1802:
I have just learn’d by accident, that you lately received from this Country a little Poem, said to be the Production of poor Burns… to have been found by me written on a window of a Country Inn in Dumfriesshire. I think it but Justice to you as well as Burns, to tell you candidly how the fact stands. Having occasion last Year, to make a Journey thro’ Nithdale, accompany’d by my eldest Daughter, we could not but feel the strongest regret, & some little resentment at the miserable devastation which the banks of that beautiful River had suffered from Cutting down of the Trees with which they had been cloth’d. My daughter observ’d to me that if Burns were alive, it would afford an excellent subject for the feeling & indignation of his Muse to work upon. Catching the Hint, I wrote, almost Impromptu, the little poem in question, & read it next day at a Gentleman’s House where we visited, from the pencilled copy in my Note-Book, which I pretended to have taken from the Window-Shutter of a little Inn, whence I had actually copied some other lines of Burns’ in Praise of a Young Lady, published by you in the Collection of his works…. Such, Sir, is the genuine account of this trifling Jeu d’Esprit. There is no Probability that One of your Criticial Discernment should be deceived by it; but I think it right to prevent even the smallest chance of my being accessory to such Deception.
If true, why did Mackenzie not claim the poem after it appeared in The Scots Magazine in 1803?
The question of authorship, due to Mackenzie’s possible deceit ought to remain open: either he is the author and pretended the poem was from Burns, or he found it, realised it was an unpublished work of Burns and, for whatever reason, privately claimed it. If the poem appeared via the hands of Mackenzie, then it is questionable as to whether he would have changed passages of which he did not approve. There are several small textual differences between various printed copies of this poem, revealing some changes made probably by nineteenth-century editors.
Scott Douglas states in 1876 that the woods at Drumlanrig shared the same fate as the woods around Neidpath in Peeblesshire, where Mackenzie was a visitor. There is no documented evidence that Mackenzie visited anyone in 1801 on a journey that would have taken him by Drumlanrig, although he was at Neidpath. If the woodlands of Drumlanrig were felled during the poet’s lifetime, then the poem may be his. If it is by Mackenzie, it is better than most of his, at best, mediocre poetry. There is nothing distinctive in the language of the poem to suggest that Burns could not have been the author. It is very similar to The Humble Petition of Br
uar Water, stanzas 5 and 10. If by MacKenzie, then it is highly imitational of Burns. No manuscript has been preserved. The poem may be from Burns, but MacKenzie could have cleared this situation up by including it in his collected works which he chose not to do.
To accept the confession of a liar is never safe ground. Mackenzie lived to deny most of his anti-radical activities during the ideological war of the 1790s. In Mackenzie’s post-1800 life, he never admitted the true extent of his anti-radical past: attacking the Scottish Friends of the People under various pen-names in the press, prompting Robert Heron to do likewise and his role as a witness against William Skirving (S.R.O., JC 26/280) in the 1794 Scottish Sedition Trials. The Mackenzie who survived Burns was a man of mediocre literary talent who envied Burns as an artist. In the Burns story, Mackenzie is not so much the benevolent sentimental figure he stimulated, but a deceitful and powerful villain whose claim to this poem should not be accepted at face value.
Young Jamie