by Robert Burns
Wi’ him that night.
The auld guid-wife’s weel-hoordit nits 55
Are round an’ round dividend,
An’ mony lads an’ lasses’ fates
Are there that night decided:
Some kindle couthie side by side,
And burn thegither trimly; 60
Some start awa wi’ saucy pride,
An’ jump out owre the chimlie
Fu’ high that night.
Jean slips in twa, wi’ tentie e’e;
Wha ‘twas, she wadna tell; 65
But this is Jock, an’ this is me,
She says in to hersel’:
He bleez’d owre her, an’ she owre him,
As they wad never mair part:
Till fuff! he started up the lum, 70
An’ Jean had e’en a sair heart
To see’t that night.
Poor Willie, wi’ his bow-kail runt,
Was brunt wi’ primsie Mallie;
An’ Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, 75
To be compar’d to Willie:
Mall’s nit lap out, wi’ pridefu’ fling,
An’ her ain fit, it brunt it;
While Willie lap, and swore by jing,
‘Twas just the way he wanted 80
To be that night.
Nell had the fause-house in her min’,
She pits hersel an’ Rob in;
In loving bleeze they sweetly join,
Till white in ase they’re sobbin: 85
Nell’s heart was dancin at the view;
She whisper’d Rob to leuk for’t:
Rob, stownlins, prie’d her bonie mou’,
Fu’ cozie in the neuk for’t,
Unseen that night. 90
But Merran sat behint their backs,
Her thoughts on Andrew Bell:
She lea’es them gashin at their cracks,
An’ slips out-by hersel’;
She thro’ the yard the nearest taks, 95
An’ for the kiln she goes then,
An’ darklins grapit for the bauks,
And in the blue-clue throws then,
Right fear’t that night.
An’ ay she win’t, an’ ay she swat — 100
I wat she made nae jaukin;
Till something held within the pat,
Good L — d! but she was quaukin!
But whether ‘twas the deil himsel,
Or whether ‘twas a bauk-en’, 105
Or whether it was Andrew Bell,
She did na wait on talkin
To spier that night.
Wee Jenny to her graunie says,
“Will ye go wi’ me, graunie? 110
I’ll eat the apple at the glass,
I gat frae uncle Johnie:”
She fuff’t her pipe wi’ sic a lunt,
In wrath she was sae vap’rin,
She notic’t na an aizle brunt 115
Her braw, new, worset apron
Out thro’ that night.
“Ye little skelpie-limmer’s face!
I daur you try sic sportin,
As seek the foul thief ony place, 120
For him to spae your fortune:
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!
Great cause ye hae to fear it;
For mony a ane has gotten a fright,
An’ liv’d an’ died deleerit, 125
On sic a night.
“Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor,
I mind’t as weel’s yestreen —
I was a gilpey then, I’m sure
I was na past fyfteen: 130
The simmer had been cauld an’ wat,
An’ stuff was unco green;
An’ eye a rantin kirn we gat,
An’ just on Halloween
It fell that night. 135
“Our stibble-rig was Rab M’Graen,
A clever, sturdy fallow;
His sin gat Eppie Sim wi’ wean,
That lived in Achmacalla:
He gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel, 140
An’he made unco light o’t;
But mony a day was by himsel’,
He was sae sairly frighted
That vera night.”
Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 145
An’ he swoor by his conscience,
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck;
For it was a’ but nonsense:
The auld guidman raught down the pock,
An’ out a handfu’ gied him; 150
Syne bad him slip frae’ mang the folk,
Sometime when nae ane see’d him,
An’ try’t that night.
He marches thro’ amang the stacks,
Tho’ he was something sturtin; 155
The graip he for a harrow taks,
An’ haurls at his curpin:
And ev’ry now an’ then, he says,
“Hemp-seed I saw thee,
An’ her that is to be my lass 160
Come after me, an’ draw thee
As fast this night.”
He wistl’d up Lord Lennox’ March
To keep his courage cherry;
Altho’ his hair began to arch, 165
He was sae fley’d an’ eerie:
Till presently he hears a squeak,
An’ then a grane an’ gruntle;
He by his shouther gae a keek,
An’ tumbled wi’ a wintle 170
Out-owre that night.
He roar’d a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu’ desperation!
An’ young an’ auld come rinnin out,
An’ hear the sad narration: 175
He swoor ‘twas hilchin Jean M’Craw,
Or crouchie Merran Humphie —
Till stop! she trotted thro’ them a’;
And wha was it but grumphie
Asteer that night! 180
Meg fain wad to the barn gaen,
To winn three wechts o’ naething;
But for to meet the deil her lane,
She pat but little faith in:
She gies the herd a pickle nits, 185
An’ twa red cheekit apples,
To watch, while for the barn she sets,
In hopes to see Tam Kipples
That vera night.
She turns the key wi’ cannie thraw, 190
An’owre the threshold ventures;
But first on Sawnie gies a ca’,
Syne baudly in she enters:
A ratton rattl’d up the wa’,
An’ she cry’d Lord preserve her! 195
An’ ran thro’ midden-hole an’ a’,
An’ pray’d wi’ zeal and fervour,
Fu’ fast that night.
They hoy’t out Will, wi’ sair advice;
They hecht him some fine braw ane; 200
It chanc’d the stack he faddom’t thrice
Was timmer-propt for thrawin:
He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak
For some black, grousome carlin;
An’ loot a winze, an’ drew a stroke, 205
Till skin in blypes cam haurlin
Aff’s nieves that night.
A wanton widow Leezie was,
As cantie as a kittlen;
But och! that night, amang the shaws, 210
She gat a fearfu’ settlin!
She thro’ the whins, an’ by the cairn,
An’ owre the hill gaed scrievin;
Whare three lairds’ lan’s met at a burn,
To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 215
Was bent that night.
Whiles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As thro’ the glen it wimpl’t;
Whiles round a rocky scar it strays,
Whiles in a wiel it dimpl’t; 220
Whiles glitter’d to the nightly rays,
Wi’ bickerin’, dancin’ dazzle;
Whiles cookit undeneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazel
Unseen that night. 225
Amang the brach
ens, on the brae,
Between her an’ the moon,
The deil, or else an outler quey,
Gat up an’ ga’e a croon:
Poor Leezie’s heart maist lap the hool; 230
Near lav’rock-height she jumpit,
But mist a fit, an’ in the pool
Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,
Wi’ a plunge that night.
In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 235
The luggies three are ranged;
An’ ev’ry time great care is ta’en
To see them duly changed:
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock’s joys
Sin’ Mar’s-year did desire, 240
Because he gat the toom dish thrice,
He heav’d them on the fire
In wrath that night.
Wi’ merry sangs, an’ friendly cracks,
I wat they did na weary; 245
And unco tales, an’ funnie jokes —
Their sports were cheap an’ cheery:
Till butter’d sowens, wi’ fragrant lunt,
Set a’ their gabs a-steerin;
Syne, wi’ a social glass o’ strunt, 250
They parted aff careerin
Fu’ blythe that night.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
76.
To a Mouse
WEE, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee, 5
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
I’m truly sorry man’s dominion,
Has broken nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle 10
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave 15
‘S a sma’ request;
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss’t!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin! 20
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
Baith snell an’ keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste, 25
An’ weary winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell —
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell. 30
That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter’s sleety dribble, 35
An’ cranreuch cauld!
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft agley, 40
An’lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!
Still thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e’e. 45
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
77.
Epitaph on John Dove, Innkeeper
HERE lies Johnie Pigeon;
What was his religion?
Whae’er desires to ken,
To some other warl’
Maun follow the carl, 5
For here Johnie Pigeon had nane!
Strong ale was ablution,
Small beer persecution,
A dram was memento mori;
But a full-flowing bowl 10
Was the saving his soul,
And port was celestial glory.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
78.
Epitaph for James Smith
LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands a’,
He aften did assist ye;
For had ye staid hale weeks awa,
Your wives they ne’er had miss’d ye.
Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye press 5
To school in bands thegither,
O tread ye lightly on his grass, —
Perhaps he was your father!
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
79.
Adam Armour’s Prayer
GUDE pity me, because I’m little!
For though I am an elf o’ mettle,
An’ can, like ony wabster’s shuttle,
Jink there or here,
Yet, scarce as lang’s a gude kail-whittle, 5
I’m unco queer.
An’ now Thou kens our waefu’ case;
For Geordie’s jurr we’re in disgrace,
Because we stang’d her through the place,
An’ hurt her spleuchan; 10
For whilk we daurna show our face
Within the clachan.
An’ now we’re dern’d in dens and hollows,
And hunted, as was William Wallace,
Wi’ constables-thae blackguard fallows, 15
An’ sodgers baith;
But Gude preserve us frae the gallows,
That shamefu’ death!
Auld grim black-bearded Geordie’s sel’ —
O shake him owre the mouth o’ hell! 20
There let him hing, an’ roar, an’ yell
Wi’ hideous din,
And if he offers to rebel,
Then heave him in.
When Death comes in wi’ glimmerin blink, 25
An’ tips auld drucken Nanse the wink,
May Sautan gie her doup a clink
Within his yett,
An’ fill her up wi’ brimstone drink,
Red-reekin het. 30
Though Jock an’ hav’rel Jean are merry —
Some devil seize them in a hurry,
An’ waft them in th’ infernal wherry
Straught through the lake,
An’ gie their hides a noble curry 35
Wi’ oil of aik!
As for the jurr-puir worthless body!
She’s got mischief enough already;
Wi’ stanged hips, and buttocks bluidy
She’s suffer’d sair; 40
But, may she wintle in a woody,
If she wh-e mair!
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
80.
The Jolly Beggars: A Cantata
A Cantata
Recitativo
WHEN lyart leaves bestrow the yird,
Or wavering like the bauckie-bird,
Bedim cauld Boreas’ blast;
When hailstanes drive wi’ bitter skyte,
And infant frosts begin to bite, 5
In hoary cranreuch drest;
Ae night at e’en a merry core
O’ randie, gangrel bodies,
In Poosie-Nansie’s held the splore,
To drink their orra duddies; 10
Wi’ quaffing an’ laughing,
They ranted an’ they sang,
Wi’ jumping an’ thumping,
The vera girdle rang,
First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 15
Ane sat, weel brac’d wi’ mealy bags,
And knapsack a’ in order;
His doxy lay within his arm;
Wi’ usquebae an’ blankets warm
She blinkit on her sodger; 20
An’ aye he gies the tozie dr
ab
The tither skelpin’ kiss,
While she held up her greedy gab,
Just like an aumous dish;
Ilk smack still, did crack still, 25
Just like a cadger’s whip;
Then staggering an’ swaggering
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; 30
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.
Lal de daudle, &c.
My ‘prenticeship I past where my leader breath’d his last,
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram: 35
And I served out my trade when the gallant game was play’d,
And the Morro low was laid at the sound of the drum.
I lastly was with Curtis among the floating batt’ries,
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb;
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, 40
I’d clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.
And now tho’ I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg,
And many a tatter’d rag hanging over my bum,
I’m as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet,
As when I used in scarlet to follow a drum. 45
What tho’ with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks,
Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home,
When the t’other bag I sell, and the t’other bottle tell,
I could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of a drum.
Recitativo
He ended; and the kebars sheuk, 50
Aboon the chorus roar;
While frighted rattons backward leuk,
An’ seek the benmost bore:
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk,
