by Robert Burns
No matter — stick to sound believing.
Learn three-mile pray’rs, an’ half-mile graces,
Wi’ weel-spread looves, an’ lang, wry faces; well-, palms, long
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen’d groan,
65 And damn a’ Parties but your own;
I’ll warrant then, ye’re nae Deceiver, no
A steady, sturdy, staunch Believer.
O ye wha leave the springs o’ Calvin,
For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin! muddy puddles, own digging
70 Ye sons of Heresy and Error,
Ye’ll some day squeel in quaking terror,
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath,
And in the fire throws the sheath;
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom,
75 Just frets till Heav’n commission gies him; gives
While o’er the Harp pale Misery moans,
And strikes the ever-deep’ning tones,
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans!
Your pardon, Sir, for this digression:
80 I maist forgat my Dedication; almost forgot
But when Divinity comes ’cross me,
My readers still are sure to lose me.
So, Sir, you see ’twas nae daft vapour; no
But I maturely thought it proper,
85 When a’ my works I did review,
To dedicate them, Sir, to YOU:
Because (ye need na tak’ it ill) not take it badly
I thought them something like yoursel.
Then patronize them wi’ your favor, howling
90 And your Petitioner shall ever —
I had amaist said, ever pray, almost
But that’s a word I need na say; not
For prayin, I hae little skill o’t, have
I’m baith dead-sweer, an’ wretched ill o’t; both loath, sick of it
95 But I’se repeat each poor man’s pray’r, I’ll
That kens or hears about you, Sir — knows
‘May ne’er Misfortune’s gowling bark howling
Howl thro’ the dwelling o’ the CLERK!
May ne’er his gen’rous, honest heart,
100 For that same gen’rous spirit smart!
May Kennedy’s far-honor’d name
Lang beet his hymeneal flame, long fan
Till Hamiltons, at least a diz’n, dozen
Are frae their nuptial labors risen: from
105 Five bonie Lasses round their table,
And sev’n braw fellows, stout an’ able, fine, sturdy
To serve their King an’ Country weel, well
By word, or pen, or pointed steel!
May Health and Peace, with mutual rays,
110 Shine on the ev’ning o’ his days;
Till his wee, curlie John’s ier-oe, small, great-grandchild
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, no more
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow!’
I will not wind a lang conclusion, long
115 With complimentary effusion;
But, whilst your wishes and endeavours
Are blest with Fortune’s smiles and favours,
I am, Dear Sir, with zeal most fervent,
Your much indebted, humble servant.
120 But if, which Pow’rs above prevent,
That iron-hearted Carl, Want, fellow/old man
Attended, in his grim advances,
By sad mistakes, and black mischances,
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him,
125 Make you as poor a dog as I am,
Your humble servant then no more;
For who would humbly serve the Poor?
But, by a poor man’s hopes in Heav’n!
While recollection’s pow’r is giv’n,
130 If, in the vale of humble life,
The victim sad of Fortune’s strife,
I, thro’ the tender-gushing tear,
Should recognise my Master dear,
If friendless, low, we meet together,
135 Then, sir, your hand — my FRIEND and BROTHER!
Gavin Hamilton (1751–1805) was a Mauchline writer (solicitor) who was one of Burns’s closest friends and one of the few professional men to whom the poet was tangibly indebted. He, as landlord, subleased Mossgiel to Robert and Gilbert to save them from their father’s bankruptcy and was also to the fore in supporting publication of the Kilmarnock edition. Like Burns he, too, fell foul of the malign forces of local Calvinism and it was his dispute with William Fisher over alleged breaches of Church discipline on Hamilton’s part which was the cause of the quite wonderful Holy Willie’s Prayer. We, as well as Burns, are, consequently deeply in his debt.
Thus the poem reflects these two principal issues: Burns’s gratitude to an honest good-hearted man (a type he constantly evoked but rarely found) and the fanatical power of Calvinism to control through the creation of diabolic terror and its by-product of malignant hypocrisy. Ll. 53–66 are particularly eloquent on this subject. Hamilton not only provides in this poem the image of the appropriate patron but his singular example leads to a larger digression (ll. 37–48) on the global manifestations of The Enlightenment’s belief of the good-hearted natural man as opposed to the vicious, rebarbative provincials who control Ayrshire. For Burns’s knowledge of the Philosophes see Ian S. Ross’s ‘Burns and the ‘Siècles des Lumières’ (Love and Liberty, pp. 217–28).
Hugh Blair wished ll. 67–77 omitted on the grounds that: ‘The poem will be much better without it, and it will give offence by the ludicrous views of punishments of Hell’. Kinsley remarks that ‘for once he may have been right’ but on the evidence Kinsley cites from Calvin’s own statutes regarding the inherent, eternal corruption of the non-elect, it is hard to agree with him. There is also a proByronic self-referential flippancy in the poem (ll. 78–81) as well as moments of darkness and how one might respond to the collapse of creative and social hopes.
1 The Duke of Hamilton.
2 This line was omitted in the 1787 edition.
For Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
First printed in the Kilmarnock edition, 1786.
The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps,
Whom canting wretches blam’d;
But with such as he, where’er he be,
May I be sav’d or damn’d.
For notes on Gavin Hamilton, see A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton.
To a Louse
On Seeing One on a Lady’s Bonnet at Church
First printed in the Kilmarnock edition, 1786.
HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan ferlie! where, going, crawling wonder
Your impudence protects you sairly: very well
I canna say but ye strunt rarely cannot, strut confidently
Owre gauze and lace, over
5 Tho’ faith, I fear ye dine but sparely eat little
On sic a place. such
Ye ugly, creepan, blastet wonner, blasted wonder
Detested, shunn’d by saunt an’ sinner, saint
How daur ye set your fit upon her — dare, foot
10 Sae fine a Lady! so
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner go
On some poor body.
Swith, in some beggar’s haffet squattle: away!, temples, squat
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle, scramble
15 Wi’ ither kindred, jumping cattle, other
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane ne’er daur unsettle where, bone (comb), dare
Your thick plantations.
Now haud you there, ye’re out o’ sight, hold
20 Below the fatt’rels, snug an’ tight, ribbon-ends
Na, faith ye yet! ye’ll no be right, no, confound you
Till ye’ve got on it,
The vera tapmost, tow’ring height very topmost
O’ Miss’s bonnet. hat
25 My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, bold
As plump an’ grey as onie grozet: any goose
berry
O for some rank, mercurial rozet, mercury pasted rosin
Or fell, red smeddum, deadly powder
I’d gie ye sic a hearty dose o’t, give
30 Wad dress your droddum! would, backside
I wad na been surpris’d to spy would not
You on an auld wife’s flainen toy; old flannel cap
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, perhaps, small ragged
On ’s wylecoat; flannel vest
35 But Miss’s fine Lunardi, fye! balloon-shaped hat
How daur ye do’t? dare
O Jenny, dinna toss your head, do not
An’ set your beauties a’ abread! abroad
Ye little ken what cursèd speed know
40 The blastie’s makin! damned thing’s
Thae winks an’ finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin!
O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us would, gift give
To see oursels as ithers see us! others
45 It wad frae monie a blunder free us, would from many
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait wad lea’e us, would leave
An’ ev’n Devotion!
If perceptible animal motion in To a Mouse is reduced to a drift towards cold death, the louse’s world is charged with manic upward mobility. Its achieved goal is the very top of the refined Jenny’s Lunardi bonnet. These height of fashion bonnets derived from the shape of the Lunardi balloon flown over Edinburgh by Burns’s Crochallan Fencible comrade, James ‘Balloon’ Tytler in 1784. The Italian aeronaut Vincenzo Lunardi made several flights in Scotland in the following year. The church service which combines strict social regimentation with, for the prosperous, fashionable display, becomes the occasion for the louse to traverse the class barrier with a vengeance leaving behind its accustomed world of greasy, dirty flannel for that of gauze and lace. Burns’s own ambivalent but constant attraction for the world of women of a superior class (cloyingly obvious with Mrs McLehose and frenzied with regard to Maria Riddell) perhaps provides the poem with its dynamism and profound sense of satirical social contrast. Kinsley calls the poem a ‘minor triumph of whimsy’ but David Craig surely comes nearer the truth when he comments:
To a Louse isn’t radical in a usual or obvious sense. The point is that Burns’s radicalism pervades his imagination through and through. The least domestic item reminds him of the hunger and shortages of poor folk, the unfeeling above-it-all stance of the well-to-do, the need to expose the shame of finery and what was then called rank. For Burns, the louse is an underdog and all his complicity is with it (ll. 9–16). Already the louse has come to stand for all the dispossessed and propertyless who one day will come and squat in the big houses when the upper class nightmare of a jacquerie comes to pass. The beauty of this poem is that it insinuates its radical challenge to the unequal nature of class society into a perfectly observed comic scene. The social point makes itself. It is the kind of piece we need when answering the usual conservative objection that radical literature tends to blaze and tub-thump (‘The Radical Literary Tradition’, The Red Paper on Scotland, ed. Gordon Brown (Edinburgh University Publications Board: 1975), pp. 292–3).
Craig’s is both a brilliant insight into this poem and a salutary reminder of the fact that Burns as poet is necessarily preoccupied with varied oblique strategies for his radical politics. As a writer he was a smuggler not an Excise man. It should also remind us not to read ‘O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us/to see oursels as ithers see us!’ as a piece of sententious sentimentality but Burns’s two line demolition of Adam Smith’s concept of the creation of internalised spectator in his Theory of Moral Sentiments as a form of secular conscience adequate to controlling our materialism and social pretentiousness.
Epistle to J. Lapraik:
An Old Scotch Bard, April 1, 1785
First printed in the Kilmarnock edition, 1786.
WHILE briers an’ woodbines budding green,
And Paitricks scraichin loud at e’en, partridges screeching
An’ morning Poossie whiddin seen, hare scudding
Inspire my Muse,
5 This freedom, in an unknown frien’ friend
I pray excuse.
On Fasteneen we had a rockin, Shrove Tuesday, meeting
To ca’ the crack and weave our stockin; call the conversation
And there was muckle fun and jokin, much
10 Ye need na doubt; not
At length we had a hearty yokin, set-to
At sang about.
There was ae sang, amang the rest, one
Aboon them a’ it pleas’d me best, above
15 That some kind husband had addrest
To some sweet wife:
It thirl’d the heart-strings thro’ the breast, thrilled
A’ to the life.
I’ve scarce heard ought describ’d sae weel, anything, so well
20 What gen’rous, manly bosoms feel;
Thought I, ‘Can this be Pope or Steele,
Or Beattie’s wark?’ work
They tald me ’twas an odd kind chiel told, chap or person
About Muirkirk.
25 It pat me fidgean-fain to hear’t, put, tingling/excited
An’ sae about him there I spier’t; so, asked
Then a’ that kent him round declar’d, all, knew
He had ingine; genius
That nane excell’d it, few cam near’t, none, came
30 It was sae fine: so
That set him to a pint of ale,
An’ either douce or merry tale, sober
Or rhymes an’ sangs he’d made himsel, songs
Or witty catches,
35 ’Tween Inverness and Teviotdale,
He had few matches.
Then up I gat, an’ swoor an aith, got, swore an oath
Tho’ I should pawn my pleugh an’ graith, plough and harness
Or die a cadger pownie’s death, hawker pony’s
40 At some dyke-back, beind a stone wall
A pint an’ gill I’d gie them baith, give, both
To hear your crack. conversation
But, first an’ foremost, I should tell,
Amaist as soon as I could spell, almost
45 I to the crambo-jingle fell; rhyming
Tho’ rude an’ rough,
Yet crooning to a body’s sel, humming, self
Does weel eneugh. well enough
I am nae Poet, in a sense; no
50 But just a Rhymer like by chance,
An’ hae to Learning nae pretence; have, no
Yet, what the matter?
Whene’er my Muse does on me glance,
I jingle at her.
55 Your Critic-folk may cock their nose,
And say, ‘How can you e’er propose,
You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, who know, from
To mak a sang?’ make
But by your leaves, my learned foes,
60 Ye’re maybe wrang.
What’s a’ your jargon o’ your Schools,
Your Latin names for horns an’ stools?
If honest Nature made you fools,
What sairs your Grammers? serves
65 Ye’d better taen up spades and shools, shovels
Or knappin-hammers. stone-breaking
A set o’ dull, conceited Hashes, dunderheads/fools
Confuse their brains in Colledge-classes!
They gang in Stirks, and come out Asses, go
70 Plain truth to speak;
An’ syne they think to climb Parnassus then
By dint o’ Greek!
Gie me ae spark o’ Nature’s fire, one
That’s a’ the learning I desire;
75 Then, tho’ I drudge thro’ dub an’ mire puddle
At pleugh or cart, plough
My Muse, tho’ hamely in attire,
May touch the heart.
O for a spunk o’ ALLAN’S glee, spark
80 Or FERGUSSON’S, the
bauld an’ slee, sly
Or bright LAPRAIK’S, my friend to be,
If I can hit it!
That would be lear eneugh for me, learning enough
If I could get it.
85 Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow, have, enough
Tho’ real friends I b’lieve are few;
Yet, if your catalogue be fow, full
I’se no insist;
But, gif ye want ae friend that’s true, if, one
90 I’m on your list.
I winna blaw about mysel, will not boast
As ill I like my fauts to tell; faults
But friends, an’ folks that wish me well,
They sometimes roose me; praise
95 Tho’, I maun own, as monie still shall, many
As far abuse me.
There’s ae wee faut they whyles lay to me, one small fault, whiles
I like the lasses — Gude forgie me! God forgive
For monie a Plack they wheedle frae me many a coin, get from
100 At dance or fair:
Maybe some ither thing they gie me, other, give
They weel can spare. well
But MAUCHLINE Race or MAUCHLINE Fair,
I should be proud to meet you there;
105 We’se gie ae night’s discharge to care, we will give one
If we forgather; get together
And hae a swap o’ rhymin-ware, have
Wi’ ane anither. one another
The four-gill chap, we’se gar him clatter, four-gill cup, we will make
110 An’ kirs’n him wi’ reekin water; christen
Syne we’ll sit down an’ tak our whitter, then, draught
To chear our heart;
An’ faith, we’se be acquainted better
Before we part.
115 Awa ye selfish, warly race, worldly
Wha think that havins, sense, an’ grace, who, manners
