Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan,
And Harley rouses all the god in man.
When well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite,
With manly love, or female beauty bright,
(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace
Can only charm us in the second place,)
Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear,
As on this night, I've met these judges here!
But still the hope Experience taught to live,
Equal to judge-you're candid to forgive.
No hundred-headed Riot here we meet,
With decency and law beneath his feet,
Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name;
Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame.
O Thou, dread Power! whose empire-giving hand
Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honour'd land,
Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire;
May every son be worthy of his sire;
Firm may she rise with generous disdain
At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain;
Still self-dependent in her native shore,
Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar,
Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more.
ALL devil as I am, a damned wretch,
A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting villain,
Still my heart melts at human wretchedness;
And with sincere tho' unavailing sighs
I view the helpless children of distress.
With tears of indignation I behold th' oppressor
Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction,
Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime.
Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you;
Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity;
Ye poor, despis'd, abandon'd vagabonds,
Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to Ruin.
O but for kind, tho' ill-requited friends,
I had been driven forth like you forlorn,
The most detested, worthless wretch among you!
O injur'd God! Thy goodness has endow'd me
With talents passing most of my compeers,
Which I in just proportion have abus'd,
As far surpassing other common villains,
As Thou in natural parts hadst given me more.
ON PASSING A LADY'S CARRIAGE. [MRS. MARIA RIDDEL'S.]
IF you rattle along like your mistress's tongue,
Your speed will out-rival the dart :
But, a fly for your load, you'll break down on the road,
If your stuff be as rotten's her heart.
YE hae lien a' wrang, lassie,
Ye've lien a' wrang;
Ye've lien in an unco bed,
And wi' a fremit man.
O ance ye danced upon the knowes,
And ance ye lightly sang-
But in herrying o' a bee byke,
I'm rad ye've got a stang.
O GIE my love brose, brose,
Gie my love brose and butter;
For nane in Carrick or Kyle
Can please a lassie better.
The lav'rock lo'es the grass,
The muirhen lo'es the heather;
But gie me a braw moonlight,
And me and my love together.
LASS, when your mither is frae hame,
Might I but be sae bauld
As come to your bower-window,
And creep in frae the cauld,
As come to your bower-window,
And when it's cauld and wat,
Warm me in thy sweet bosom ;
Fair lass, wilt thou do that?
Young man, gif ye should be sae kind,
When our gudewife's frae hame,
As come to my bower-window,
Whare I am laid my lane,
And warm thee in my bosom
But I will tell thee what,
The way to me lies through the kirk;
Young man, do ye hear that?
I MET a lass, a bonie lass,
Coming o'er the braes o' Couper, Bare her leg and bright her een,
And handsome ilka bit about her. Weel I wat she was a quean
Wad made a body's mouth to water; Our Mess John, wi' his lyart pow, His haly lips wad lickit at her.
O WAT ye what my minnie did,
My minnie did, my minnie did,
O wat ye what my minnie did,
On Tysday 'teen to me, jo?
She laid me in a saft bed,
A saft bed, a saft bed,
She laid me in a saft bed,
And bade gudeen to me, jo.
An' wat ye what the parson did,
The parson did, the parson did, An' wat ye what the parson did,
A' for a penny fee, jo?
He loosed on me a lang man,
A mickle man, a strang man,
He loosed on me a lang man,
That might hae worried me, jo.
An' I was but a young thing,
A young thing, a young thing, An' I was but a young thing,
Wi' nane to pity me, jo. I wat the kirk was in the wyte, In the wyte, in the wyte, To pit a young thing in a fright, An' loose a man on me, jo.
O CAN ye labour lea, young man,
An' can ye labour lea;
Gae back the gate ye cam' again,
Ye'se never scorn me.
I feed a man at Martinmas,
Wi' arle pennies three;
An' a' the faut I fan' wi' him,
He couldna labour lea.
The stibble rig is easy plough'd,
The fallow land is free;
But wha wad keep the handless coof,
That couldna labour lea?
JENNY M'Craw, she has ta'en to the heather,
Say, was it the covenant carried her thither;
Jenny M'Craw to the mountains is gane,
Their leagues and their covenants a' she has ta'en;
My head and my heart, now quo' she, are at rest,
And as for the lave, let the Deil do his best.
IN ANSWER TO A CARD FROM AN INTIMATE FRIEND OF BURNS, WISHING HIM
TO SPEND AN HOUR AT A TAVERN.
THE King's most humble servant I,
Can scarcely spare a minute;
But I'll be wi' ye by an' bye;
Or else the Deil's be in it.
My bottle is my holy pool,
That heals the wounds o' care an' dool,
And pleasure is a wanton trout,
An' ye drink it, ye'll find him out.
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