DOES GAUL INVASION THREAT?
Sae craftilie she took me ben,
And bade me mak nae clatter;
'For our ramgunshoch, glum gudeman
Is o'er ayont the water.'
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace,
When I did kiss and dawte b her,
Let him be planted in my place,
Syne say, I was the fautor.
Could I for shame, could I for shame,
Could I for shame refus'd her;
And wadna manhood been to blame,
Had I unkindly used her!
He claw'd her wi' the ripplin-kame,d
And blae and bluidy bruis'd her;
When sic a husband was frae hame,
What wife but wad excus'd her!
I dighted aye her e'en sae blue,
An' bann'd the cruel randy,'
And weel I wat, her willin mou
Was sweet as sugar-candie.
At gloamin-shot, it was I wot,
I lighted on the Monday;
But I cam thro' the Tyseday's dew,
To wanton Willie's brandy.
Does haughty Gaul invasion threat?1
Tune-" Push about the Jorum."
DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat?
Then let the louns beware, Sir;
There's wooden walls upon our seas,
And volunteers on shore, Sir:
1 Written for the Dumfries Volunteers. Burns, if sincere, changed his
d wool-dressing comb. 8 nightfall.
mind about the Revolution, like Coleridge and Wordsworth.
The Nith shall run to Corsincon,
And Criffel sink in Solway,
Ere we permit a Foreign Foe
On British ground to rally!
We'll ne'er permit a Foreign Foe
On British ground to rally!
O let us not, like snarling curs,
In wrangling be divided,
Till, slap! come in an unco loun,
And wi' a rung decide it!
Be Britain still to Britain true,
Amang ourselves united;
For never but by British hands
Maun British wrangs be righted!
No! never but by British hands
Shall British wrangs be righted!
The Kettle o' the Kirk and State,
Perhaps a clout may fail in't;
But deil a foreign tinkler loun
Shall ever ca' a nail in't.
Our father's blude the Kettle bought,
And wha wad dare to spoil it;
By Heav'ns! the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it!
By Heav'ns! the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it!
The wretch that would a tyrant own,
And the wretch, his true-born brother, Who would set the Mob aboon the Throne, May they be damn'd together!
Who will not sing 'God save the King,'
Shall hang as high's the steeple;
But while we sing 'God save the King,'
We'll ne'er forget THE PEOPLE!
But while we sing 'God save the King,'
We'll ne'er forget THE PEOPLE!
Address to the Woodlark.1
O STAY, Sweet warbling woodlark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing, fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art;
For surely that wad touch her heart
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.
Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd,
Sic notes o' woe could wauken!
Thou tells o' never-ending care;
O' speechless grief, and dark despair:
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken.
Song.-On Chloris Being Ill.2
Tune-" Aye wauken O."
Chorus-LONG, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow
While my soul's delight
Is on her bed of sorrow.
Can I cease to care?
Can I cease to languish,
While my darling Fair
Is on the couch of anguish?
Long, long, &c.
1 If the piece had an occasion nothing
about it is known.
2 It appears that Mrs Burns was not
jealous of Chloris, a letter of Burns's avers that she asked Chloris to dinner.
Ev'ry hope is fled,
Ev'ry fear is terror;
Slumber ev'n I dread,
Ev'ry dream is horror.
Long, long, &c.
Hear me, Powers Divine!
Oh, in pity, hear me !
Take aught else of mine,
But my Chloris spare me!
Long, long, &c.
How Cruel are the Parents.1
Altered from an old English song.
Tune-John Anderson, my jo."
How cruel are the parents
Who riches only prize,
And to the wealthy booby
Poor Woman sacrifice!
Meanwhile, the hapless Daughter
Has but a choice of strife;
To shun a tyrant Father's hate-
Become a wretched Wife.
The ravening hawk pursuing,
The trembling dove thus flies,
To shun impelling ruin,
Awhile her pinions tries;
Till, of escape despairing,
No shelter or retreat,
She trusts the ruthless Falconer,
And drops beneath his feet.
1 This and the following piece were written for music in May, 1795.
MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion
Round the wealthy, titled bride:
But when compar'd with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.
Mark yonder, &c. (four lines repeated).
What are the showy treasures,
What are the noisy pleasures?
The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art:
The polish'd jewels blaze
May draw the wond'ring gaze;
And courtly grandeur bright
The fancy may delight,
But never, never can come near the heart.
But did you see my dearest Chloris,
In simplicity's array;
Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is,
Shrinking from the gaze of day,
O then, the heart alarming,
And all resistless charming,
In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul!
Ambition would disown
The world's imperial crown,
Ev'n Avarice would deny,
His worshipp'd deity,
And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll.
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