Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (50 page)
Read Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Online
Authors: Robert Burns
270.
Chorus.
— O mount and go, mount and make you ready,
O mount and go, and be the Captain’s lady.
WHEN the drums do beat, and the cannons rattle,
Thou shalt sit in state, and see thy love in battle:
When the drums do beat, and the cannons rattle,
5
Thou shalt sit in state, and see thy love in battle.
O mount and go, &c.
When the vanquish’d foe sues for peace and quiet,
To the shades we’ll go, and in love enjoy it:
When the vanquish’d foe sues for peace and quiet,
10
To the shades we’ll go, and in love enjoy it.
O mount and go, &c.
271.
JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent;
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
5
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
10
And mony a cantie day, John,
We’ve had wi’ ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
And hand in hand we’ll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
15
John Anderson, my jo.
272.
My Love she’s but a Lassie yet (Song)
MY love, she’s but a lassie yet,
My love, she’s but a lassie yet;
We’ll let her stand a year or twa,
She’ll no be half sae saucy yet;
I rue the day I sought her, O!
5
I rue the day I sought her, O!
Wha gets her needs na say she’s woo’d,
But he may say he’s bought her, O.
Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet,
Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet,
10
Gae seek for pleasure whare you will,
But here I never miss’d it yet,
We’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t,
We’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t;
The minister kiss’d the fiddler’s wife;
15
He could na preach for thinkin o’t.
273.
MY heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie,
Some counsel unto me come len’,
To anger them a’ is a pity,
But what will I do wi’ Tam Glen?
I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fellow,
5
In poortith I might mak a fen;
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I maunna marry Tam Glen!
There’s Lowrie the Laird o’ Dumeller —
“Gude day to you, brute!” he comes ben:
10
He brags and he blaws o’ his siller,
But when will he dance like Tam Glen!
My minnie does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o’ young men;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me,
15
But wha can think sae o’ Tam Glen!
My daddie says, gin I’ll forsake him,
He’d gie me gude hunder marks ten;
But, if it’s ordain’d I maun take him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen!
20
Yestreen at the Valentine’s dealing,
My heart to my mou’ gied a sten’;
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written “Tam Glen”!
The last Halloween I was waukin
25
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken,
His likeness came up the house staukin,
And the very grey breeks o’ Tam Glen!
Come, counsel, dear Tittie, don’t tarry;
I’ll gie ye my bonie black hen,
30
Gif ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo’e dearly, Tam Glen.
274.
Carle, an’ the King come (Song)
Chorus.
— Carle, an the King come,
Carle, an the King come,
Thou shalt dance and I will sing,
Carle, an the King come.
AN SOMEBODY were come again,
5
Then somebody maun cross the main,
And every man shall hae his ain,
Carle, an the King come.
Carle, an the King come, &c.
I trow we swapped for the worse,
10
We gae the boot and better horse;
And that we’ll tell them at the cross,
Carle, an the King come.
Carle, an the King come, &c.
Coggie, an the King come,
15
Coggie, an the King come,
I’se be fou, and thou’se be toom
Coggie, an the King come.
Coggie, an the King come, &c.
275.
THERE’S a youth in this city, it were a great pity
That he from our lassies should wander awa’;
For he’s bonie and braw, weel-favor’d witha’,
An’ his hair has a natural buckle an’ a’.
His coat is the hue o’ his bonnet sae blue,
5
His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw;
His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae,
And his clear siller buckles, they dazzle us a’.
For beauty and fortune the laddie’s been courtin;
Weel-featur’d, weel-tocher’d, weel-mounted an’ braw;
10
But chiefly the siller that gars him gang till her,
The penny’s the jewel that beautifies a’.
There’s Meg wi’ the mailen that fain wad a haen him,
And Susie, wha’s daddie was laird o’ the Ha’;
There’s lang-tocher’d Nancy maist fetters his fancy,
15
But the laddie’s dear sel’, he loes dearest of a’.
276.
Whistle o’er the lave o’t (Song)
FIRST when Maggie was my care,
Heav’n, I thought, was in her air,
Now we’re married-speir nae mair,
But whistle o’er the lave o’t!
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
5
Sweet and harmless as a child —
Wiser men than me’s beguil’d;
Whistle o’er the lave o’t!
How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love, and how we gree,
10
I care na by how few may see —
Whistle o’er the lave o’t!
Wha I wish were maggot’s meat,
Dish’d up in her winding-sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see’t —
15
Whistle o’er the lave o’t!
277.
Chorus.
— An’ O my Eppie, my jewel, my Eppie,
Wha wad na be happy wi’ Eppie Adair?
BY love, and by beauty, by law, and by duty,
I swear to be true to my Eppie Adair!
By love, and by beauty, by law, and by duty,
5
I swear to be true to my Eppie Adair!
And O my Eppie, &c.
A’ pleasure exile me, dishonour defile me,
If e’er I beguile ye, my Eppie Adair!
A’ pleasure exile me, dishonour defile me,
10
If e’er I beguile thee, my Eppie Adair!
And O my Eppie, &c.
278.
On the late Captain Grose’s Peregrinations
Peregrinations thro’ Scotland, collecting the Antiquities of that Kingdom
HEAR, Land o’ Cakes, and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat’s; —
If there’s a hole in a’ your coats,
I rede you tent it:
A chield’s amang you takin notes,
5
And, faith, he’ll prent it:
If in your bounds ye chance to light
Upon a fine, fat fodgel wight,
O’ stature short, but genius bright,
That’s he, mark weel;
10
And wow! he has an unco sleight
O’ cauk and keel.
By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,
Or kirk deserted by its riggin,
It’s ten to ane ye’ll find him snug in
15
Some eldritch part,
Wi’ deils, they say, L — d save’s! colleaguin
At some black art.
Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha’ or chaumer,
Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamour,
20
And you, deep-read in hell’s black grammar,
Warlocks and witches,
Ye’ll quake at his conjuring hammer,
Ye midnight bitches.
It’s tauld he was a sodger bred,
25
And ane wad rather fa’n than fled;
But now he’s quat the spurtle-blade,
And dog-skin wallet,
And taen the — Antiquarian trade,
I think they call it.
30
He has a fouth o’ auld nick-nackets:
Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets,
Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets,
A towmont gude;
And parritch-pats and auld saut-backets,
35
Before the flood.
Of Eve’s first fire he has a cinder;
Auld Tubalcain’s fire-shool and fender;
That which distinguished the gender
O’ Balaam’s ass:
40
A broomstick o’ the witch of Endor,
Weel shod wi’ brass.
Forbye, he’ll shape you aff fu’ gleg
The cut of Adam’s philibeg;
The knife that nickit Abel’s craig
45
He’ll prove you fully,
It was a faulding jocteleg,
Or lang-kail gullie.
But wad ye see him in his glee,
For meikle glee and fun has he,
50
Then set him down, and twa or three
Gude fellows wi’ him:
And port, O port! shine thou a wee,
And THEN ye’ll see him!
Now, by the Pow’rs o’ verse and prose!
55
Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose! —
Whae’er o’ thee shall ill suppose,
They sair misca’ thee;
I’d take the rascal by the nose,
Wad say, “Shame fa’ thee!”
60
