Free Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) by Robert Burns Page A

—Your Latin names for horns an’ stools?If honest Nature made you fools,
              What sairs your grammars?Ye’d better taen up spades and shools,    65
              Or knappin-hammers.
     
    A set o’ dull, conceited hashesConfuse their brains in college classes!They gang in stirks, and come out asses,
              Plain truth to speak;    70 An’ syne they think to climb Parnassus
              By dint o’ Greek!
     
    Gie me ae spark o’ nature’s fire,That’s a’ the learning I desire;Then tho’ I drudge thro’ dub an’ mire    75
              At pleugh or cart,My muse, tho’ hamely in attire,
              May touch the heart.
     
    O for a spunk o’ Allan’s glee,Or Fergusson’s the bauld an’ slee,    80 Or bright Lapraik’s, my friend to be,
              If I can hit it!That would be lear eneugh for me,
              If I could get it.
     
    Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow,    85 Tho’ real friends, I b’lieve, are few;Yet, if your catalogue be fu’,
              I’se no insist:But, gif ye want ae friend that’s true,
              I’m on your list.    90
     
    I winna blaw about mysel,As ill I like my fauts to tell;But friends, an’ folk that wish me well,
              They sometimes roose me;Tho’ I maun own, as mony still    95
              As far abuse me.
     
    There’s ae wee faut they whiles lay to me,I like the lasses — Gude forgie me!For mony a plack they wheedle frae me
              At dance or fair;    100 Maybe some ither thing they gie me,
              They weel can spare.
     
    But Mauchline Race, or Mauchline Fair,I should be proud to meet you there;We’se gie ae night’s discharge to care,    105
              If we forgather;An’ hae a swap o’ rhymin-ware
              Wi’ ane anither.
     
    The four-gill chap, we’se gar him clatter,An’ kirsen him wi’ reekin water;    110 Syne we’ll sit down an’ tak our whitter,
              To cheer our heart;An’ faith, we’se be acquainted better
              Before we part.
     
    Awa ye selfish, war’ly race,    115 Wha think that havins, sense, an’ grace,Ev’n love an’ friendship should give place
              To catch-the-plack!I dinna like to see your face,
              Nor hear your crack.    120
     
    But ye whom social pleasure charmsWhose hearts the tide of kindness warms,Who hold your being on the terms,
              “Each aid the others,”Come to my bowl, come to my arms,    125
               My friends, my brothers!
     
    But, to conclude my lang epistle,As my auld pen’s worn to the gristle,Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle,
              Who am, most fervent,    130 While I can either sing or whistle,
              Your friend and servant.
     
     
     
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61.
     
    Second Epistle to J. Lapraik
     
    April 21, 1785
     
    WHILE new-ca’d kye rowte at the stakeAn’ pownies reek in pleugh or braik,This hour on e’enin’s edge I take,
              To own I’m debtorTo honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,    5
              For his kind letter.
     
    Forjesket sair, with weary legs,Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs,Or dealing thro’ amang the naigs
              Their ten-hours’ bite,    10 My awkart Muse sair pleads and begs
              I would na write.
     
    The tapetless, ramfeezl’d hizzie,She’s saft at best an’ something lazy:Quo’ she, “Ye ken we’ve been sae busy    15
              This month an’ mair,That trowth, my head is grown right dizzie,
              An’ something