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Authors: Robert Burns
The Canongate Burns (15 page)
In the Posthumous section, virtually half of this volume, we have tried to pinpoint the incalculable degree to which, after his death, Burns's work was hidden away, destroyed or even burned. The fact that such an enormous number of poems, many of the highest quality and importance, only surfaced after his death and that destruction of texts carried on for such a long period of time, is overwhelming proof of the enormous censorship he had, in life and death, to endure. For example the page torn from volume three of the
Interleaved Scots Musical Museum
with the song title
The
Lucubrations of Henry Dundass, May
1792, probably revealed Burns's satirical treatment of Dundas's clumsy and authoritarian action to cripple Borough reform, which resulted in street riots in Edinburgh and burning effigies of Dundas being paraded around the city. That such censorship has carried over into the twenty-first century is clear from a recent discovery of a private collection of transcripts to Burns's letters to Robert Ainslie which remain unpublished.
The final section
The Merry Muses of Caledonia
presents those bawdy songs known to have been written or improved by Burns,
which, for so long, were the private amusement of smoking-room âgentlemen' who sought to protect the general public from this earthy trait of the vital Burns. The volume closes with an appendix of as-yet undetermined and rejected works.
Andrew Noble
Patrick Scott Hogg
1
Catherine Carswell, Letters, Mitchell Library, Glasgow, MS 53.
2
Prof. J. De Lancey Ferguson, âThey Censored Burns', in
Scotland's
Magazine
, Vol. 51, January 1955, pp. 29â30.
3
David Norbrook,
Writing The English Republic: Poetry, Rhetoric and
Politics 1627â1660
, Cambridge, 1999.
4
James Kinsley, Warton Lecture to the British Academy, 23 January 1974, printed by the British Academy, 1985.
5
Paul O'Flinn, in
Writing and Radicalism
, ed. Lucas (London: Longman), 1996, pp. 84â101.
6
See Laing MS. 500, ff.404â5. Additional letters Fintry to Robert Dundas, exist in Laing II, 500/f.734, f.747, f.751, ff.753â7, f.1076, f.1084.
7
RH 2/4/65f.84â5.
8
Laing II, 500, f.544.
Â
Â
APRIL
14th, 1786
PROPOSALS
,
FOR PUBLISHING BY SUBSCRIPTION
,
SCOTCH POEMS
,
BY ROBERT BURNS
.
The work to be elegantly Printed in One
Volume, Octavo, Price, stitched
Three
Shillings
.
As the Author has not the most distant
Mercenary
view in Publishing, as soon as so many Subscribers appear as will defray the
necessary
Expense, the Work will be sent to the Press.
âSet out the brunt side o' your shin,
For pride in
Poets
is nae sin;
Glory's
the Prize for which
they
rin,
                   And
Fame's
their jo;
And wha blaws best the Horn shall win:
                   And wharefare no?'
                                                         RAMSAY.
The following trifles are not the production of the Poet, who, with all the advantages of learned art, and perhaps amid the elegancies and idleness of upper life, looks down for a rural theme, with an eye to Theocrites or Virgil. To the Author of this, these and other celebrated names their countrymen are, in their original languages, âA fountain shut up' and, a âbook sealed'. Unacquainted with the necessary requisites for commencing Poet by Rule, he sings the sentiments and manners, he felt and saw in himself and his rustic compeers around him, in his and their native language. Though a Rhymer from his earliest years, at least from the earliest impulses of the softer passions, it was not till very lately, that the applause, perhaps the partiality, of Friendship, wakened his vanity so far as to make him think any thing of his was worth showing; and none of the following works were ever composed with a view to the press. To
amuse himself with the little creations of his own fancy, amid the toils and fatigues of a laborious life; to transcribe the various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own breast; to find some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a world, always an alien scene, a task uncouth to the Poetical mind; these were his motives for courting the Muses, and in these he found Poetry to be its own reward.
Now that he appears in the public character of an Author, he does it with fear and trembling. So dear is fame to the Rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, nameless Bard, shrinks aghast, at the thought of being branded as âan impertinent blockhead, obtruding his nonsense on the world; and because he can make a shift to jingle a few doggerel, Scotch rhymes together, looks upon himself as a Poet of no small consequence forsooth'.
It is an observation of that celebrated Poet [Shenstone], whose divine Elegies do honour to our language, our nation, and our species, that âHumility has depressed many a genius to a hermit, but never raised one to fame'. If any Critic catches at the word genius, the Author tells him, once for all, that he certainly looks upon himself as possest of some poetic abilities, otherwise his publishing in the manner he has done, would be a manoeuvre below the worst character, which, he hopes, his worst enemy will ever give him: but to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawning of the poor, unfortunate Ferguson, he with equal unaffected sincerity, declares, that, even in his highest pulse of vanity, he has not the most distant pretensions. These two justly admired Scotch Poets he has often had in his eye in the following pieces; but rather with a view to kindle at their flame, than for servile imitation.
To his Subscribers, the Author returns his most sincere thanks. Not the mercenary bow over a counter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of the Bard, conscious how much he is indebted to Benevolence and Friendship, for gratifying him, if he deserves it, in that dearest wish of every poetic bosom â to be distinguished. He begs his readers, particularly the Learned and the Polite, who may honour him with a perusal, that they will make every allowance for Education and Circumstances of Life: but, if after a fair, candid, and impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted of Dulness and Nonsense, let him be done by, as he would in that case do by others â let him be condemned, without mercy, to oblivion.
R.B.
First published on the front page of the Kilmarnock edition, 1786.
The Simple Bard, unbroke by rules of Art,
He pours the wild effusions of the heart:
And if inspir'd, 'tis Nature's pow'rs inspire;
Her's all the melting thrill, and her's the kindling fire.
                                                      Anonymous.
The Kilmarnock edition begins with four lines supposedly from an anonymous poet, wholly appropriate to the image Burns wished to project to his readers. They are, in all probability, his own composition. In his
Preface
, Burns coyly suggests that he does not have âall the advantages of learned art' in poetry â when, in fact, he is a master craftsman in poetic form and metre. He goes on to explain that his poetry is the product of Nature's influence on him. This projected persona is captured perfectly in the quatrain. The possibility that Burns wrote these lines was first suggested by the highly distinguished American scholar, Professor Carol McGuirk, in her excellent
Robert Burns: Selected Poems
(Penguin, 1993). A search of known anonymous poetry for the 18th century did not trace a potential author other than Burns. The lines are a hand-in-glove portrayal of Burns's self-projection of himself as a poet.
First printed in the Kilmarnock edition, 1786.
'Twas in that place o'
Scotland's
isle
That bears the name of auld King COIL,
old, Kyle
Upon a bonie day in June,
bonny
When wearing thro' the afternoon,
5
Twa Dogs
, that were na thrang at hame,
two, not busy, home
Forgather'd ance upon a time.
met by chance, once
The first I'll name, they ca'd him
Caesar
,
called
Was keepet for his Honor's pleasure:
kept
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,
ears
10
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs;
none
But whalpet some place far abroad,
pupped
Whare sailors gang to fish for Cod.
where, go
His locked, letter'd, braw brass-collar
Shew'd him the
gentleman
an'
scholar
;
15
But tho' he was o' high degree,
The fient a pride na pride had he;
fiend, no
But wad hae spent an hour caressan,
would have
Ev'n wi' a Tinkler-gipsey's
messan
;
mongrel
At
Kirk or Market, Mill or Smiddie
,
smithy
20
Nae tawtied
tyke
, tho' e'er sae duddie,
matted cur, so ragged
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him,
would have stood
An' stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him.
pissed, stones
The tither was a
ploughman's collie
,
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,
fellow/character
25
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him,
who
And in his freaks had
Luath
ca'd him,
After some dog in
Highland Sang
,
1
Was made lang syne, Lord knows how lang.
long ago
He was a gash an' faithfu'
tyke
,
wise, dog
30
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke!
leapt, ditch, stone wall
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face
friendly, white marks
Ay gat him friends in ilka place;
always got, every
His
breast
was white, his touzie
back
shaggy
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
well covered
35
His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl,
fine/full
Hung owre his hurdies wi' a swirl.
over, buttocks
Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,
no, fond of each other
And unco pack an' thick thegither;
kept secrets/confidential
Wi' social
nose
whyles snuff'd an' snowcket;
whiles, sniffed
40
Whyles mice an' moudiewurks they howcket;
whiles, moles, dug for
Whyles scour'd awa' in lang excursion,
whiles, long
An' worry'd ither in
diversion
;
Till tir'd at last wi' monie a farce,
many
They sat them down upon their arse,
45
An' there began a lang digression
long
About the
lords o' the creation
.
CAESAR
I've aften wonder'd, honest
Luath
,
often
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have;
An' when the
gentry's
life I saw,
50
What way poor bodies liv'd ava.
at all
Â
Our
Laird
gets in his racked rents,
extortionate
His coals, his kane, an' a' his stents:
payments in kind, dues
He rises when he likes himsel;
His flunkies answer at the bell;
servants
55
He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse;
calls
He draws a bonie, silken purse,
carries
As lang's my
tail
, whare thro' the steeks,
long as, where, stiches
The yellow, letter'd
Geordie
keeks.
guinea (King's head) peeps
Frae morn to een it's nought but toiling,
from, evening, nothing
60
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling;
An' tho' the gentry first are steghan,
cramming
Yet ev'n the
ha' folk
fill their peghan
hall (servants), stomach
Wi' sauce, ragouts, an sic like trashtrie,
such like rubbish
That's little short o' downright wastrie:
wastage
65
Our
Whipper-in
, wee, blastit wonner,
small, blasted wonder
Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner,
Better than onie
Tenant-man
any
His Honor has in a' the lan':
all the land
An' what poor
Cot-folk
pit their painch in,
put, paunch
70
I own it's past my comprehension.
LUATH
Trowth,
Caesar
, whyles they're fash'd eneugh:
sometimes, bothered
A
Cotter
howckan in a sheugh,
farm labourer, digging, ditch
Wi' dirty stanes biggan a dyke,
stones, building, stone wall
Bairan a quarry, an' sic like,
clearing, such
75
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains,
A smytrie o' wee duddie weans,
number, small ragged children
An' nought but his han'-daurk, to keep
hands' work
Them right an' tight in
thack an' raep
.
snug, thatch, rope
An' when they meet wi' sair disasters,
sore
80
Like loss o' health or want o' masters,
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer,
most would, longer
An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger:
should, cold
But how it comes, I never kend yet,
knew
They're maistly wonderfu' contented;
mostly
85
An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies,
stout lads, girls
Are bred in sic a way as this is.
such
CAESAR
But then to see how ye're neglecket,
neglected
How huff'd, an' cuff'd, an' disrespecket!
scolded, slapped, disrespected
Lord man, our gentry care as little
90
For
delvers, ditchers
, an' sic cattle;
labourers, diggers, such
They gang as saucy by poor folk,
go, smugly
As I wad by a stinkan brock.
would, badger
I've notic'd, on our Laird's
court-day
,
2
(An' monie a time my heart's been wae),
many, sad
95
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash,
short of money
How they maun thole a
Factor's
snash:
3
would suffer, abuse
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear
He'll
apprehend
them,
poind
their gear;
seize & sell their goods
While they maun staun', wi' aspect humble,
must stand
100
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble!
all
Â
I see how folk live that hae riches;
have
But surely poor-folk maun be wretches!
must
LUATH
They're nae sae wretched's ane wad think:
not so, as one would
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink,
poverty's
105
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight,
so
The view o't gies them little fright.
gives
Then chance an' fortune are sae guided,
so
They're ay in less or mair provided;
always, more
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment,
110
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment.
The dearest comfort o' their lives,
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives;
thriving children
The
prattling things
are just their pride,
That sweetens a' their fire-side.
115
An' whyles twalpennie worth o'
nappy
sometimes, ale
Can mak the bodies unco happy:
folk, very
They lay aside their private cares,
To mind the Kirk an' State affairs;
They'll talk o'
patronage
an'
priests
,
120
Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts,
Or tell what new taxation's comin,
An' ferlie at the folk in LON'ON.
wonder
As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass returns,
festival of All-Saints
They get the jovial, rantan
Kirns
,
harvest homes
125
When
rural life
, of ev'ry station,
Unite in common recreation;
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth
Forgets there's
Care
upo' the earth.
That
merry day
the year begins,
130
They bar the door on frosty win's;
winds
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream,
ale, foaming froth
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam;
The luntan pipe, an' sneeshin mill,
smoking, snuff box
Are handed round wi' right guid will;
good
135
The cantie, auld folks, crackan crouse,
jolly old, chatting, cheerful
The young anes rantan thro' the house â
one, running
My heart has been sae fain to see them,
so content
That I for joy hae
barket
wi' them.
have barked
Still it's owre true that ye hae said
over, have
140
Sic game is now owre aften play'd;
such a, over often
There's monie a creditable
stock
many
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk,
respectable
Are riven out baith root an' branch,
thrown out by force, both
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench,
145
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster
who
In favor wi' some
gentle Master
,
Wha, aiblins thrang a
parliamentin
',
who, maybe crowd
For
Britain's guid
his saul indentin' â
good, soul engaged
Â
CAESAR
Haith, lad, ye little ken about it:
an exclamation, know
150
For Britain's guid
! guid faith! I doubt it.
good
Say rather, gaun as PREMIERS lead him:
go
An' saying
aye
or
no 's
they bid him:
At Operas an' Plays parading,
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading:Â
155
Or maybe, in a frolic daft,
To HAGUE or CALAIS takes a waft,
To mak
a tour
an' tak a whirl,
To learn
bon ton
, an' see the worl'.
Fr. good breeding
There, at VIENNA or VERSAILLES,
160
He rives his father's auld entails;
splits, old
Or by MADRID he taks the rout,
road
To thrum guittarres an' fecht wi'
nowt
;
strum, guitars, fight with cattle
Or down
Italian Vista
startles,
courses
Whore-hunting amang groves o' myrtles:
among
165
Then bowses drumlie
German-water
,
drinks muddy
To mak himsel look fair an' fatter,
An' clear the consequential sorrows,
Love-gifts of Carnival Signioras.
for britain's guid!
for her destruction!
170
Wi' dissipation, feud an' faction!
LUATH
Hech man! dear sirs! is that the gate
way
They waste sae monie a braw estate!
so many
Are we sae foughten an' harass'd
so troubled
For gear ta gang that gate at last!
wealth to go
175
O would they stay aback frae courts,
away from
An' please themsels wi' countra sports,
country
It wad for ev'ry ane be better,
would, every one
The
Laird
, the
Tenant
, an' the
Cotter
!
For thae frank, rantan, ramblan billies,
those, lads
180
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows;
few of them are
Except for breakin o' their timmer,
timber
Or speakin lightly o' their
Limmer
,
mistress
Or shootin of a hare or moor-cock,
The ne'era-bit they're ill to poor folk.Â
