Daddy Auld (229), Daddy Auld, There's a tod in the fauld, Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest. No more of rest, but now thy dying bed! A tod meikle waur than the clerk (230): The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn; I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. The Kirk's Alarm. A SATIRE. (220) ORTHODOX, Orthodox, Wha believe in John Knox, Let me sound an alarm to your conscience; There's a heretic blast Has been blawn in the wast, That what is no sense must be nonsense. Dr. Mac (221), Dr. Mac, You should stretch on a rack, Is heretic, damnable error. Town of Ayr (222), town of Ayr, To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing; And orator Bob (224) is its ruin. D'rymple mild (225), D'rymple mild, Rumble John (226), Rumble John, Simper James (227), Simper James, That the pack ye'll soon lead, Wi, a jump, yell, and howl, For the foul thief is just at your gate. Though ye do na skaith, Davie Bluster (231), Davie Bluster, Yet to worth let's be just. He has cooper'd and cawt a wrong pin in't. Poet Willie (233), Poet Willie, Gie the Doctor a volley, Wi' your Liberty's Chain and your wit; Ye ne'er laid a stride, Ye but smelt, man, the place where he * Andro Gouk (234), Andro Gouk, And the book not the waur, let me tell ye; Barr Steenie (235), Barr Steenie, Irvine side (236), Irvine side, Muirland Jock (237), Muirland Jock, To crush Common Sense for her sins, To confound the poor Doctor at ance. Holy Will (238), Holy Will, When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor; When ye're ta'en for a saunt, Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, Seize your spir'tual guns, Ammunition you never can need; Your hearts are the stuff, Will be powther enough, And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. Poet Burns, Poet Burns, Wi' your priest-skelping turns, Why desert ye your auld native shire? Your muse is a gipsie: E'en though she were tipsie, She could ca' us nae waur than we are. To Dr. Blarklork, IN ANSWER TO A LETTER. Ellisland, 21st Oct. 1789. Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye, The ill-thief blaw the Heron south! (239) He tauld mysel by word o' mouth, He'd tak my letter; I lippen'd to the chield in trouth, But aiblins honest Master Heron And holy study; But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, Ye'll now disdain me! And then my fifty pounds a-year Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies, That strang necessity supreme is I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, But I'll sned besoms-thraw saugh woodies, Lord help me thro' this warld o' care! But why should ae man better fare, Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van, Wha does the utmost that he can, But to conclude my silly rhyme, To weans and wife, That's the true pathos and sublime Of human life. My compliments to sister Beckie; Aud eke the same to honest Lucky, I wat she is a dainty chuckie, As e'er tread clay! And gratefully, my guid auld cockie, I'm yours for aye. ROBERT BUrns. Delia. (241) FAIR the face of orient day, More lovely far her beauty shows. Sweet the tinkling rill to hear; But, Delia, more delightful still, Steal thine accents on mine car. The flower-enamoured busy bee, The rosy banquet loves to sip; Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip. But, Delia, on thy balmy lips. Let me, no vagrant insect, rove; Oh, let me steal one liquid kiss, For, oh my soul is parched with love. Sketch-Jew-rar's Day. TO MRS DUNLOP.. (242) THIS day, Time winds th' exhausted chain, The absent lover, minor heir, Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd, Prologue, SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES, ON NEW-YEAR'S-DAY EVENING. [1790] No song nor dance I bring from yon great city That queens it o'er our taste-the more's the pity: Tho', by-the-bye, abroad why will you roam? Good sense and taste are natives here at home : But not for panegyric I appear, I come to wish you all a good new year! Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, Not for to preach, but tell his simple story: The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say, "You're one year older this important day.” If wiser, too-he hinted some suggestion, But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question; And with a would-be roguish leer and wink, He bade me on you press this one word"think!" Ye sprightly youths quite flushed with hope and spirit, Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, To you the dotard has a deal to say, In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way; He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, That the first blow is ever half the battle; That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him, Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him, That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, You may do miracles by perseverving. Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care! To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow, And humbly begs you'll mind the important Now! To crown your happiness he asks your leave, And offers bliss to give and to receive. For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours, With grateful pride we own your many favours; And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. Prologue, FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT NIGHT, DUMFRIES. WHAT needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, How this new play and that new sang is comin' ? Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted? Does nonsense mend like whiskey, when imported? Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame, Will try to gie us songs and plays at hame? For comedy abroad he needna toil, A fool and knave are plants of every soil; Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece To gather matter for a serious piece; |