THE MERRY MUSES
OF
CALEDONIA.
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THE MERRY MUSES
OF
CALEDONIA;
A Collection of
FAVOURITE SCOTS SONGS
Ancient and Modern
Selected for Use of the
CROCHALLAN FENCIBLES
by
ROBERT BURNS
Say, Puritan, can it be wrong,
To dress plain truth in witty song?
What honest Nature says, we should do;
What every lady does ... or would do.
With Introduction, Notes and Glossary.
Privately Printed for Subscribers Only.
This edition, printed from type which has been distributed, is
reprinted from the only known existing copy of the genuine Dumfries
edition (circa 1800) and is strictly limited to 750 numbered
copies for America, of which this is
NUMBER......[[Not Numbered]]
Privately Printed for Subscribers Only.
INTRODUCTION
APART from his genius, Robert Burns is the most
prominent figure of his time in the history of the
ballad and song literature of Scotland. The extent,
variety, and accuracy of his knowledge in this particular
walk is the more remarkable when it is considered that few
facilities existed in his day for the study of the subject; and
these were, moreover, so fragmentary and loosely connected
as to be almost valueless. In fact, the literature of Scottish
song can scarcely be said to have made a beginning till after
the second decade of the eighteenth century, when Allan
Ramsay gave an impetus to the native lyric, which, continued
through the Jacobite period, reached its culmination in the era
of Burns, and can scarcely be said to have yet expended itself.
The ancient Scots "Makaris" eschewed the lyric as unworthy
of their muse; and at a later period the clergy set their faces
steadfastly to destroy the indigenous growth of song by the
substitution of "gude and godlie ballates," which, whatever
may be thought of them otherwise, served the good end of
preserving the old titles and measures. Cropped at the
surface, the national poesy struck its roots into the subsoil
and became a wilding of bye-paths and shady places, of
vigorous growth, rank, and luxuriant. There Burns found it;
tended, pruned, engrafted, and transplanted it; till, from the
( vi )
corrupting stock of ribaldry, obscenity, and licentiousness, he
feasted the world with the fruits of Hesperides. He employed
no labourer; he did the navvy work himself. Small wonder
is it, then, that the skirts of his mantle shew some traces of the
scavenger work which was the self-imposed task of his life.
On this point, Robert Chambers, in his Life and Works of
the Poet, out of the fulness and ripeness of his knowledge,
writes:—
"With a strange contradiction to the grave and religious character
of the Scottish people, they possessed a wonderful quantity of
indecorous traditionary verse, not of an inflammatory character, but
simply expressive of a profound sense of the ludicrous in connection
with the sexual affections. Such things, usually kept from public
view, oozed out in merry companies such as Burns loved to frequent.
Men laughed at them for the moment, and in the sober daylight of
next morning had forgotten them. When our poet was particularly
struck by any free-spoken ditty of the old school he would scribble
it down and transfer it to a commonplace book. In time, what he
thus collected he was led to imitate, apparently for no other object
than that of amusing his merry companions in their moments of
conviviality .... I am, nevertheless, convinced that his conduct
originated mainly in nothing worse than his strong sense of the
ludicrous. Of this, I venture to say, there could be no doubt entertained
by the public if it were allowable to bring the proper evidence
into Court. It is also to be admitted that, to heighten the effect, he
was too apt to bring in a dash of levity respecting Scriptural
characters and incidents—a kind of bad taste, however, for which an
example was set to him in the common conversation of his countrymen ;
for certain it is that the piety of the old Scottish people did not
exclude a very considerable share of what may be called an unconscious
profanity."
In boyhood and early youth, we are told, he consumed
with eager mind-hunger everything that partook of the
complexion of his genius, and when the slender stores at his
command were exhausted he betook himself to the volume
of traditionary lore written on the memories of the men
and women around him; chronicling with faithful pen
all their uncouth utterances—eliminating, restoring, amending—
( vii )
till the crooked was made straight and the rough places plain.
Every one conversant with Burns's literary methods well
knows that the discovery of a ballad or song in his autograph
is no conclusive proof, per se, that he is the author of it. He
was continually noting down every echo of the elder Scottish
Muse that was carried to his ear, and "high-kilted was she,"
indeed, if her presentment everywhere is anything like an
approximate portrait. All was fish that came into the net,
to be preserved as suggestions for Johnson and Thomson in
the private manuscript referred to, of which more anon.
Copies of the more amusing "Cloaciniads,"* however, were
dispatched forthwith (yet not without the precaution of
privacy) to the jesters of the Crochallan Club, or hastily
jotted down for future reference on odd scraps of paper, as
the old version of "Bonie Dundee" on the reverse of the
Earl of Buchan's letter in the Poet's Monument, Edinburgh,
exemplifies; and these confidences, we do not hesitate to say,
in not a few instances, have been since used in a way that is
as disgraceful as it is dishonourable to all concerned. Nor
can the dictum of any editor, however able and erudite, be
accepted as final, unless some more satisfactory evidence is
produced than the assumed Burns flavour of the ballad or
song itself. Yet, in face of these considerations, many pieces
—and these mostly of the objectionable sort—have passed
into currency as compositions of Burns, whose claims to that
distinction rest solely on evidence of the flimsy character
indicated. Even such a strong presumption of authenticity as
unchallenged publication during the Poet's lifetime is open
*From Cloacina, a Roman goddess, who presided over the Cloacae or public
receptacles for the filth of the city.
( viii )
to grave suspicion, seeing that he himself thus writes to
Thomson in November, 1794:—
"I myself have lately seen a couple of ballads sung through the
streets of Dumfries with my name at the head of them as the author
though it was the first time I had ever seen them."
Thomson himself (Sept., 1793,) falls into the error of
supposing that the free-spoken ditty, "The other night with
all her charms," was an original production, for he wrote
upon the margin the words, "Unpublishable surely," though
the truth is that Burns quoted it from the D'Urfey collection.
A more mischievous sort of evidence is that which is based on
the contents of certain old publications, upon which the
flight of time has conferred that arbitrary authority usually
associated in the popular mind with "gude black prent." It is
one of these whose contents and title-page we have reproduced,
and which may be said to embrace the whole subject,
that we propose to examine in the light of the information
we have been enabled to collect. A short time before Burns's
introduction to Edinburgh society, William Smellie, Lord
Newton, Charles Hay, and a few more wits of the Parliament
House, had founded a convivial club called "The
Crochallan Fencibles" (a mock allusion to the Buonaparte
Volunteer movement), which met in a tavern kept by a
genial old Highlandman named "Daunie Douglas," whose
favourite song, "Cro Chalien," suggested the dual designation
of the Club. Smellie introduced Burns as a member in
January, 1787. Cleghorn also appears to have been on the
muster-roll of this rollicking regiment, which supplies a
key to much of Burns's correspondence with him. How the
revelry of the boon companions was stimulated and diversified
may be easily imagined.
( ix )
At the outset, it may be interesting to enquire as to the
sources of Burns's ballad lore apart from oral tradition.
With the works of Fergusson and Ramsay he was specially
familiar, and his writings also testify that the English poets
and dramatists were not unknown to him, but these must be
adjudged indifferent aids in his researches. D'Urfey's Pills
to Purge Melancholy was published in 1719; Ramsay's
Tea-Table Miscellany in 1724; and William Thomson's
Orpheus Caledonius about the same date. Previous to these,
however, the Watson Collection was in circulation, having
been published in 1709.* Of the last-named work, Burns
says that it was "the first of its nature which has been
published in our own native Scots dialect." A Collection of
Loyal Songs, Poems, &c., is referred to by Stenhouse as
having been published in 1750, and the following year Yair's
Charmer was issued. The Blackbird, edited by William
Hunter, appeared in 1764; Bishop Percy's Reliques, 1605;
the Dublin Collection in 1769; and Herd's Scottish Songs,
Heroic Ballads, &c. (referred to by Burns as Wotherspoon's
Collection), in 1776.(1) Nearer the close of Burns's career
we find Pinkerton's Collection in 1786; Lawrie and Symington's
Collection in 1791; Ritson's in 1794; and Dale's, which
Robert Chambers assigns to a period anterior to Burns without
mentioning the exact date. In this list, which does not
pretend to be either accurate or complete, we have disregarded
such collections as Oswald's (1740), and MacGibbon's (1762),
for the reason that they deal less with the
poetical than the musical side of the subject. It is perhaps too
*Choice Drollery: Songs and Sonnets, was published in 1656; Westminster
Drolleries, in 1672; and Merry Drollery, in 1691. These are more closely connected
with English literature.
(1) A First Edition.
( x )
much to say that Burns was conversant with the whole of
these publications, but that he perused the pages of the more
important of them is beyond a doubt. In the Thomson letter
(Nov., 1794,) already quoted from, Burns acknowledges
receipt of Ritson's work, and goes on to say:—
"Despairing of my own powers to give you variety enough in
English songs, I have been turning over old collections to pick out
songs of which the measure is something similar to what I want;
and with a little alteration, so as to suit the rhythm of the air
exactly, to give you them for your work .... You may think
meanly of this one ('Dainty Davie'), but take a look of the bombast
original and you will be surprised that I have made so much of it."
A thoroughly satisfactory examination demands that the
annotator should have before him the contents at least of
these old collections. But, in the absence of reprints,
those of more remote date are so extremely scarce as almost to
preclude the possibility of such a method of treatment. We
are, therefore, left no choice but to utilise the material at
our disposal as best we may, for the purpose of demonstrating
that the association of Burns's name, either as author or
editor, with the ribald volumes entitled "The Merry
Muses," is not only an unwarranted mendacity, but one of
the grossest outrages ever perpetrated on the memory of a
man of genius.
Chief amongst the assailants on the personal side of Burns
is George Gilfillan, who ought to have been the last to gird
at the frailties of human nature. His mental idiosyncrasies
and impulsive aberrations were frequently the cause of keenest
regret to his best friends. He was dogmatic and overbearing
to the last degree, impatient of the opinions of others,
pertinaciously obstinate in holding to first conclusions in face
of the most convincing evidence of their untenability, and
( xi )
possessed, moreover, of the most overweening confidence in
his own judgment. He was so prejudiced and pronounced
in most of his estimates of men and things that one of his
friends has described him as a man
"So over violent or over civil,
That every man with him was God or Devil."
In his youth he became obsessed with the idea that the latter
portion of Burns's career was a continuous descent morally
and physically, and he doggedly adhered to this belief to the
end of his days. His opinions in 1878, when he edited
The National Burns, are identical with those he held in
1847, when, in the 143rd number of Hogg's Instructor, he
passed merciless judgment on Burns, based on gutter gossip
of Dumfries raked together with set purpose more than half
a century after the Poet had gone to his rest. He was
challenged at the time by Hugh Macdonald, the well-known
author of Rambles Round Glasgow, and an edifying newspaper
controversy ensued which was afterwards published in
pamphlet form, copies of which are now extremely rare.*
With the evidence then at command, and which of course
fell immeasurably short of what is now available, Macdonald
so pulverised him that Gilfillan lost his temper and made
matters worse by dragging into the controversy the authorship
of the Merry Muses. To reproduce the flimsy grounds
on which he sought to incriminate Burns were to repeat the
original offence. The only part of the evidence submitted
which is deserving of notice is his quotations from Byron's
Journal and letters.
*For reprint of same see Burns Chronicle (No. IV., 1895).
( xii )
In his Journal Byron wrote:—
"Allen has lent me a quantity of Burns's unpublished, and never
to be published, letters. They are full of oaths and obscene songs.
What an antithetical mind! Tenderness, roughness, delicacy, coarseness,
sentiment, sensuality, soaring and grovelling, dirt and deity,
all mixed up in one compound of poor clay."
In a letter to Bowles he further says:—
"I have seen myself a collection of letters of another eminent—
nay, pre-eminent—deceased poet, so abominably gross and elaborately
coarse, that I do not believe they could be paralleled in our
language. What is more strange is, that some of them are couched
as postscripts to his serious and sentimental letters, to which are
tacked either a piece of prose or some verses of the most hyperbolical
obscenity. He himself says, 'if obscenity were the sin against the
Holy Ghost, he most certainly could not be saved.'"
In another letter to his friend Hodgson, of date December
14th, 1813, he writes in similar terms:—
"Will you tell Drury I have a treasure for him—a whole set of
original Burns letters never published, nor to be published; for they
are full of fearful oaths* and the most nauseous songs—all humorous,
but coarse bawdry. However they are curiosities, and shew
him quite in a new point of view—the mixture, or rather contrast
of tenderness, delicacy, obscenity, and coarseness in the same mind
is wonderful."
These letters which seemed so "strange" to Byron—such
a "treasure," such "curiosities"—were all addressed to
Robert Cleghorn, farmer, Saughton Mills, who, as we have
already said, was a member of the Crochallan Club, and
at the same time a bosom friend of Burns. When the Poet
was engaged in collecting the old songs as material for
purified versions in Johnson's and Thomson's publications,
whenever he came across a specially brilliant black diamond,
he facetiously passed it on to Cleghorn "for his spiritual
*Byron here draws on his imagination; none of the MSS bear this out.
( xiii )
nourishment and growth in grace," and as often as not "with
the Devil's blessing." These confidences were usually
attached as addenda to Cleghorn's letters by way of advance
copies for behoof of the rollicking company of Fencibles at
their next meeting. This is the explanation of the "postscripts"
which Byron could not possibly understand, and
which, being set down without note or comment, led to his
utter bewilderment and erroneous impression of their origin.
The quotation he gives is from one of Burns's letters to
Cleghorn (Oct. 25th, 1793), which, by the way, is a signal
illustration of Burns himself being the leading—frequently
the only— witness for his own prosecution. The "Allen"
referred to by Byron was librarian to Lord Holland, and
one of Byron's intimate friends. How Cleghorn's letters
came to be in his possession is thus accounted for. Cleghorn
married a widow named Mrs. Allen, who had a son, John,
by her first husband. This John Allen, of Holland House,
was therefore Cleghorn's stepson, who inherited his stepfather's
estate and personal effects, amongst the latter being
the letters in question. The Byronic evidence consequently
resolves itself into a violation of the privacy of the confidential
communications which passed between Burns and
Cleghorn—an eventuality never dreamed of by Burns, for
he repeatedly cautioned Cleghorn and other correspondents
under similar circumstances to exercise the utmost care in
preserving the privacy of such communications. But all
evidence of the sort is entirely beside the question of the
authorship of the printed volume which so offended the
susceptibilities of Gilfillan, and which, by implication, he
asserted to be typed from Burns's manuscript. It need not
be pointed out what a large demand this assertion makes
upon our credulity in the absence of the slightest attempt
( xiv )
at proof. Gilfillan had but scant knowledge of the subject,
and his laboured effort to substitute the Cleghorn letters for
the manuscript volume is a typical example of the purblind
and unscrupulous methods he adopted when dealing with
the character of the National Poet. Regarding this manuscript,
the characteristic candour of Burns's own testimony
leaves little for others to say. In a letter to John M'Murdo,
of date December, 1793, occurs the following passage:—
"I think I once mentioned something of a collection of Scots songs
I have for some years been making; I send you a perusal of what
I have got together. I could not conveniently spare them above
five or six days, and five or six glances of them will probably more
than suffice you. A very few of them are my own. When you are
tired of them please leave them with Mr. Clint of the King's Arms.
There is not another copy of the collection in the world, and I
should be sorry that any unfortunate negligence should deprive me
of what has cost me a good deal of pains."
This speaks for itself, and that right eloquently. The
postscript to Thomson's letter of January 20th, 1793, by
the Hon. Andrew Erskine, throws such a strong sidelight
on the environment of Burns and one phase of the social
life of his period, as to confer upon it a special title to
quotation:—
"You kindly promised me, about a year ago, a collection of your
unpublished productions, religious and amorous. I know from
experiment how irksome it is to copy. If you will get any trusty
person in Dumfries to write them over fair, I will give Peter Hill
whatever he asks for his trouble, and I certainly shall not betray
your confidence."
To this the obliging Poet replied, almost by return of
post:—
"My most respectful compliments to the honourable gentleman
who favoured me with a postscript in your last. He shall hear from
me and receive his MSS soon,"
( xv )
It would appear, however, that he had become, aware of
the peculiar tastes of this class of correspondent as early as
1787. On November 6th of that year, he writes to James
Hoy, Gordon Castle, in the following terms:—
"Johnson sends the books by the fly, as directed, and begs me to
enclose his most grateful thanks. My return I intended should have
been one or two poetic bagatelles, which the world have (sic) not
seen, or, perhaps, for obvious reasons, cannot see. These I shall
send you before I leave Edinburgh. They may make you laugh a
little, which, on the whole, is the best way of spending one's
precious hours and still more precious breath; at any rate they will
be, though a small, yet a very sincere mark of my respectful esteem
for a gentleman whose further acquaintance I should look upon as a
peculiar obligation."
The effusions forwarded to his boon companions of the
Crochallan Club were more of the nature of replies to
solicitations than voluntary offerings on his part; besides, the
membership of that Club ought to be studied before the
application of individual strictures. In 1793 he thus writes
to Cleghorn:—
"For you I make a present of the following new edition of an old
Cloaciniad song, a species of composition which I have heard you
admire, and a kind of song which I knew you wanted much. It is
sung to an old tune something like 'tak' your auld cloak about ye.' "
There was twa wives, and twa witty wives,
Sat o'er a stoup o' brandy.
* * * * * * * * * *
"God speed the plough, and send a good seedtime. Amen! farewell!"
That is the beginning and end of this "old Cloaciniad,"
for we can find no trace of it in any of the collections we
have examined. That he did not scatter these "bagatelles,"
as he calls them, broadcast with careless hand, is apparent
( xvi )
from another letter to Cleghorn, dated 21st August, 1795.*
"Inclosed you have Clarke's 'Gaffer Gray.' I have not time to
copy it, so when you have taken copy for yourself please return me
the original. I need not caution you against giving copies to any
other person. 'Peggy Ramsay' I shall expect to find in 'Gaffer
Gray's' company when he returns to Dumfries."
His own dispassionate opinion of these jeux d'esprit will
be found in detached notes scattered through his correspondence,
but a sufficient idea of the inner workings of his mind
when the shadow of death was upon him can be gathered
from his letter to Thomson of 18th May, 1796:—
"When your Publication is finished I intend publishing a collection,
on a cheap plan, of all the songs I have written for you—the
Museum &c.—at least, of all the songs of which I wish to be called
the author. I do not propose this so much in the way of emolument,
as to do justice to my Muse, lest I should be blamed for trash I
never saw, or be defrauded by other claimants of what is justly my
own."
Two months afterwards the grave closed over him, and
he left his papers, as he left himself, in naked honesty to the
world, without a shred of canting deceit or unctuous pretence
to conceal the flaws of that defaced image which is the
common heritage of humanity. When "curst necessity" compelled
him to implore the loan of five pounds, we have it on
the authority of Professor Wilson that "a miscreant, aware
of his poverty, made him an offer of fifty pounds for a
collection"— this self-same manuscript collection—"which
he repelled with horror." How, then, did it come to pass
that the "horror" was re-enacted over his grave? The
*See also "Edinburgh Commonplace Book," 1787,
( xvii )
miserable story cannot be better told than in the unbiassed,
sympathetic words of Robert Chambers:—
"Unluckily, Burns's collection of these facetiae (including his own
essays in the same walk) fell, after his death, into the hands of one
of those publishers who would sacrifice the highest interests of
humanity to put an additional penny into their own purses*; and,
to the lasting grief of all the friends of our Poet, they were allowed
the honours of the press. The mean-looking volume which resulted
should be a warning to all honourable men of letters against the
slightest connection with clandestine literature, much more the degradation
of contributing to it. It may also serve as a curious study to
those who take a delight in estimating the possible varieties of
intellectual mood and of moral sensation of which our nature is
capable."
To this Scott Douglas adds:—(1)
"In Dumfries he carefully kept the book under lock and key; but,
some years after his death, it fell into the hands of a person who
caused it to be printed in a very coarse style, under the title of 'The
Merry Muses of Caledonia,' post 8vo, pp. 128. The Poet's name,
however, is not on the title page, nor indicated in any way except
by the unmistakable power exhibited in some of the pieces."
The MS. appears to have been broken up by the "person"
referred to, for what appear to be stray leaves of it still find
their way occasionally into the manuscript market.
From the character of the type employed, this "mean-looking
volume" must have been published circa 1800, but
in the absence of any date on the title page the exact year
can only be guessed at. Perfect copies of it are now so rare
that, although fragments have repeatedly come under our
observation, we have only succeeded, after years of hunting,
in obtaining a sight of one complete copy.(2) It does not
*It was obtained on loan from Mrs. Burns on false pretences, and never
returned.
(1)Paterson's Ed., Vol. ii, p. 47. See also Kilmarnock Ed. Preface, p. xlviii.
(2)The copy referred to is the only complete copy of the original edition
known to exist, and was at one time the property of Mr. W. Scott Douglas,
as the manuscript notes in his hand testify.
( xviii )
appear that this Dumfries volume was ever reprinted, but
edition after edition of "Merry Muses" continued to be issued
from the disreputable press in all parts of the kingdom, and
sold privately for dishonourable gain. These, for the most
part, are merely receptacles for the floating obscenity of their
periods, and bear the same relation to the Dumfries edition
as they do to the other sources which they laid under contribution.
We have sifted no fewer than seven of these
editions and reprints. On every one of the title pages appears
a doggerel stanza, which will be found in situ in the present volume.
As the text of the original Dumfries edition is reproduced
in this volume, whatever is necessary in the way of elucidation
will be found in the notes appended to the individual
compositions.
No. II. curtails the title to "The Merry Muses—a choice
Collection of Favourite Songs;" and it bears on the lower
part of the title page, "Dublin—Printed for the Booksellers
—Price three shillings." There is no date. It measures 8
inches by 4 1/2.*
No. III. expands the title to "The Merry Muses—a
choice collection of Favourite Songs Gathered From Many
Sources—by Robert Burns—to which is added Two of his
letters and a poem—hitherto suppressed— and never before
printed." At the top of the title page is—"Not for maids,
ministers, or striplings;" and at the bottom, "Privately
Printed—(Not for sale)— 1827." On the reverse appears,
"Only 99 copies printed." This edition has also a preface of
some length. It measures 6 1/2 inches by 4 3/4.
No. IV. has the same title as No. II., but bears, "Dublin
—Printed for the Booksellers—1832." It measures 5 1/8
inches by 3 3/8.
*The measurements apply to the copies examined.
( xix )
No. V. appears to be a reprint of No. IV., and bears,
"Dublin—Printed for the Booksellers—Price four shillings."
There is no date. It measures 5 3/4 inches by 3 1/2.
No. VI. is identical with II., IV., and V. It bears,
"London—Printed for the Booksellers—1843." It measures
6 1/2 inches by 4.
No. VII. is a reproduction of No. III., including the date,
though it is evidently much more modern. It measures 7
inches by 4 1/2.
No. VIII. is another reproduction of No. III., evidently
with the date falsified.* On the reverse of the title page,
however, is the addendum, "Only 90 copies printed," which
is omitted in VII.
The copy of No. II., which fell under our observation,
was, unfortunately, incomplete, 42 pp. being awanting out
of a total of about 100. The new pieces are mostly of
English and Irish origin, but the want of a table of contents
rendered a correct list of these an impossibility. On the last
page we observed a doggerel fragment on "Barm," which
will be found in Herd's Collection. The old version of
"Dainty Davie" given, is also printed in the same work in
fragmentary form. An old Scots piece entitled "The Lang
Dow," and a version of "For a' that and a' that," complete
the list of interpolations in this edition, so far as we had
opportunity of noting them. Burns's name does not appear
on any part of the fragment.
No. III. is the most noteworthy edition after the Dumfries,
because of its title page, on which Burns's name appears
for the first time. In a somewhat lengthy and hotchpotch
*The copy in our possession, judging from the type, binding, and spotless
condition, has certainly been printed within the last dozen years or so.
( xx )
preface, most of which is taken from Robert Chambers
without acknowledgment, the editor or compiler goes on to say:—
"This note is therefore written to point out Burns's share in this
Collection of Merry Songs—a share which was chiefly that of collector,
and not that of author; besides, to request of the limited number
of antiquarian admirers, into whose hands the volume will find its
way, that they will be careful of it, and keep it out of the way of
youth, innocence, and beauty. To gratify the aforesaid antiquaries
two letters of the Great Poet are now given for the first time, and
also an unpublished poem from the original manuscript in Burns'
own writing."
An attempt is made to separate the compositions ascribed
to Burns from the others, with the result that only twelve
pieces, out of a total of eighty-two, are laid to the charge
of the illustrious name under cover of which the sordid
wretches hoped to drive a roaring "antiquarian" trade in the
literary department. The unpublished poem introduced with
such a flourish of trumpets is "The Court of Equity,"
published privately in pamphlet form about 1810, and of
which the version given is both inaccurate and incomplete,
as we have proved by comparing it with the Egerton MSS. in
the British Museum. We have seen another version as an
appendix to an Alnwick edition of Burns, published about
the same date; a third will be found in the Aldine edition of
1893; while a fourth, for private circulation, was published
in Glasgow about half-a-dozen years ago. An edition,
"printed for the author," was published in Edinburgh in
1910. The majority of these are either garbled or incomplete.
The letters are confidential communications, shamelessly
filched from private repositories. One of them addressed to
Tames Johnson, from Mauchline, 25th May, 1788, will be
found in Paterson's Scott Douglas (Vol. v., p. 125), and
also in Hately Waddell's edition (Special Correspondence,
( xxi )
p. 79) ; the other hitherto has never been published under
respectable auspices. Of the eighty-two pieces printed, no
fewer than forty-two do not appear in the Dumfries edition;
yet upon the fly title-page is printed the libel, "Burns's
Merry Muses." And, further, to the unconscious discredit
of the whole of his "antiquarian" discoveries, the anonymous
scribbler confides, with charming simplicity, his utter ignorance
of the subject by appending, at the conclusion of his
laudable labours, the oracular remark:—"The foregoing
completes the Merry Muses as originally collected by
Burns." The glozing hypocrisy of the whole performance
reaches a climax, when, after submitting the old version of
"John Anderson, my Jo," our penny-a-liner quotes two
stanzas of Burns's version, and then eructates the following
cant:—
"Where, in the English language, is there so pure and lovable a
picture of happy wedded life? Reader, when you now know out of
what mire the poet of Scotland had to pick up many of his best and
purest lyrics, bless his memory that the legacy he left to the world
was so rich, and pure, and precious."
The interpolated pieces in this edition are:—*
Parody on "Shepherds I have
lost my love."
A Sentimental Sprig.
Botany Bay.
Burlesque on "The Highland
Laddie."
Burlesque on "Stella."
Cupid's Frolic.
Darby's Key.
Fanny's black jock.
Green leaves on the Green, Oh!
Jack of all Trades.
John Anderson, my jo. (Burns's
version.)
Langolee.
Court of Equity.
Lucy and Kitty's black jocks.
Lullaby.
My Angel, I will Marry thee.
Parody on "Corn Rigs."
Roger and Molly.
The Bonniest Lass.
The Bottle.
The Brown------of Old England.
The Bumper Toast.
The Citadel.
The Goldfinch's Nest.
The grey jock.
*Indelicate titles have been altered or amended.
( xxii )
The Happy Bunter.
The Highland Laddie.
The Irish Root.
The Little Tenement.
The Mouse's Tail.
The Origin of the pox.
The Pious Parson.
The Plenipotentiary.
The Reels of Bogie.
The Ride to London.
The Tailor.
The Vigorous Courtezan.
The Wishes.
Toasts and Sentiments.
Una's Lock.
Letter to Robert Ainslie (Mauchline, March 3, 1788).
Letter to James Johnson.
It may be added that of the twelve songs ascribed to
Burns four are to be found in his published works, and five
are docketed "perhaps by Burns, but doubtful." When we
find this generous guess hazarded on such a well-authenticated
old production as "An'ra, and his cutty gun," we are justified
in the conclusion that the compilation is mere guess work
from beginning to end. Taken at the worst, it must be
matter of congratulation, coming from such a quarter, that
the sum total credited to Burns is set down at three songs
net, out of seventy-eight—rather a slender pretext for hoisting
such a sky-cleaving signboard.
No. IV. calls for no remark beyond the table of contents,
which includes twenty-six additions whose origin is unmistakably
revealed in their titles:—
The Dispute.
Parody on "Sweet's the love."
The British Fair.
Fair lady lay.
Gulliver in Lilliput.
Blue Bells of Ireland.
Paudieen O'Rafferty.
The Friar.
They all do it.
Would you do it?
Sheila-na-Guiry.
Father Paul.
Patrick Quimes.
Hall and Doll.
The Parson and Clerk.
Burlesque on the "Fair Thief."
The Wedding Night.
Comical Jack.
A Tender Young Maid.
The Double Blessing.
Amoret and Phillida.
Coxheath.
A new way to pardon Sins.
The Marriage Morn.
The End.
A Sweet Young Maid.
In No. V. appears "The tailor cam' tae clout the claes,"
which appears in Herd's Collection, 1776. It is also given in
No. III.
( xxiii )
No. VI. closely follows V., but contains three additional
pieces:—
The Gipsy Girl
Here's a Bumper to her.
Fanny is the Girl for me.
On every page is printed "Burns's Merry Muses," which
entitles it to the distinguished honour of being the most
villainous edition that has ever appeared.
The other volumes, being reprints pure and simple, need
not be dwelt upon. Though our list is probably far from
being complete, sufficient data will be found in the foregoing
for an estimate of the amount of "trash he never saw," which
has been foisted on the name of Burns in the interests of a
nefarious trade, which is quite on a level with violating his
grave and suspending his bones on the gibbet.
Returning to the Dumfries edition, and deducting double
titles, we have in reality 85 individual compositions. Of these,
no reprint or subsequent edition which we have examined
contains more than forty, a fact which effectually disposes
of any pretensions they may have to be placed on the same
plane with the volume which is assumed to represent the
original manuscript. Proceeding to analyse the table of
contents we find, firstly, that fifteen of the compositions
appear in one or other of the published editions of the Poet's
works; the more rare, in the Kilmarnock edition of Scott
Douglas. Though more or less amended in word or phrase,
these still retain sufficient of their original character upon
which to found a judgment. Upon the remaining seventy it
would be rash to give an ex cathedra deliverance till a
complete collection of the old works, formerly referred to,
supplies whatever recoverable data may be awanting.* In
*See Kilmarnock Edition, Vol. II., p. 343.
( xxiv )
Burns's last interview with Maria Riddel, Professor Wilson
says:—
"He expressed deep contrition for having been betrayed by his
inferior nature and sympathy with the dissolute, into impurities in
verse, which he knew were floating about among people of loose
lives, and might, on his death, be collected to the hurt of his moral
character. Never had Burns been 'hired minstrel of voluptuous
blandishment,' nor by such unguarded freedom of speech had he
ever sought to corrupt, but in emulating the ribald wit and coarse
humour of some of the worst old ballads current among the lower
orders of the people, of whom the moral and religious are often
tolerant of indecencies to a strange degree, he felt he had sinned
against his genius."
He has been more sinned against than sinning. The testimony
of such a man as Robert Burns, on anything affecting
himself, is worth a whole library of conjecture. With him
the unpardonable sin was the sin of lying; therefore let the
truth be spoken as the best means of rebutting the falsehoods
and misrepresentations which, like fungus growths, have
gathered round the musty nastiness of the publications we
have pilloried. Scott Douglas (Paterson's Ed., Vol. V., p.
310) makes mention of "a lot of Pickering MSS. doubtless
yet in existence," from which it may be inferred that he did
not peruse them; we are therefore left to guess on what
authority he ascribes "The Trogger" to Burns, a stanza of
which he quotes in the same edition (Vol. III., p. 247). In
the Kilmarnock Edition (Vol. II., p. 417) he plainly informs
his readers that he never saw these MSS., but that Mr.
Greenshields of Kerse, Lesmahago, had "kindly favoured him
with transcripts of some, and interesting information regarding
others." On 9th June, 1871, the same gentleman (he
goes on to say) wrote to him in the following terms:—"On
( XXV )
broad moral ground, I have just finished a bonfire of them—
so here ends the matter." It is therefore a certainty that the
Greenshields part of the Pickering collection is beyond recovery.
"The Jolly Gauger"—an amended version of which
is given at p. 422 of Vol. II. of same edition, taken along
with the note attached—is a warning of the danger of
allowing such commendable qualities as editorial conscientiousness
and enthusiasm to run riot. In Vol. II. (pp. 60
and 62, Paterson's Ed.) reference is made to other two
"Crochallan" songs—"The bonie Moor Hen," and "My
Lord a-Hunting"—the former of which is mentioned in the
Clarinda correspondence. What are we then to understand
by "Crochallan" songs as distinguished from songs in the
"Crochallan" collection? Was the "mean-looking volume"
a faithful reflection of the pilfered MS., or was it, like its
successors, composed of garbled extracts eked out by the
canticular obscenity of its time? We cannot say, and we
submit its contents with that reservation. From his tomb
comes the lingering echo," a very few of them are my own."
What more is there in that confession than half the world,
were it only half as honest, could confess of the "original
sin" of bachelor stories in bachelor clubs, the modern demand
for purient novels, and the insatiable curiosity that centres
in the proceedings of the Divorce Courts ? Were the private
confidences of either the celebrated or obscure of any age or
time as ruthlessly violated as those of Burns have been, few
would escape whipping. Our purpose will have been served
if this publication be the means of furnishing the Poet's
admirers with a sufficiency of fact wherewith to repel the
calumnies and falsehoods which the cupidity of a few
infamous publishers has heaped upon his name.
( xxvi )
Wordsworth, the poet, who in 1816 perused a printed
copy of the "Merry Muses" (very likely the Dumfries
edition), expressed his opinion of its reputed authorship
in the following words:—*
"He must be a miserable judge of poetical compositions who can
for a moment fancy that such low, tame, and loathsome ribaldry can
possibly be the production of Burns. With the utmost difficulty we
procured a slight perusal of the abominable pamphlet alluded to.
The truth is (and we speak on the best authority the country can
produce), there is not one verse in that miscellany that ever was
publicly acknowledged by Burns, nor is there above a single page
that can be traced to his manuscript."
On the subject, Henley says:—
"He was made welcome (in Edinburgh) by the ribald, scholarly,
hard-drinking wits and jinkers of the Crochallan Fencibles, for
whose use and edification he made the unique and precious collection
now called the 'Merry Muses of Caledonia.'"
This is surprisingly just but scarcely correct. The first
purpose of the "collection" was for Burns's own use when
providing purified versions of the old songs for Johnson and
Thomson. What the same authority says of the Ainslie
letter of March 3rd, 1788, cannot be passed over without
comment:—
"The original," says Henley, "must be read, or the reader will
never wholly understand what manner of man the writer was."(1)
We say at once that such a letter should not have been
preserved by any friend of Burns, far less by an intimate
friend like Ainslie. But the covert inference is neutralised
in great degree by the undisputable fact that Burns was
married to Jean Armour two years prior to the date of the
*Lockhart's Life of Burns—Appendix; London: Geo. Bell & Sons; 1892.
(1)See Appendix.
( xxvii )
letter. The burning of the "marriage lines" did not annul
the "irregular marriage" for which Burns and Jean Armour
were reproved by the Kirk Session of Mauchline in 1788,
and taken bound to adhere to each other during their natural
lives. When Mr. Auld granted Burns a certificate as a
bachelor he did so in ignorance of the private marriage which
had taken place previous to the appearance of both before the
Kirk Session for discipline as unmarried persons. The
Ainslie letter bears on the face of it that it was a bachelor
communication to a trusted bachelor friend who had a
penchant for facetiae of the sort; and Burns never did things
by halves. Ainslie's gross breach of confidence in preserving
this letter contrasts strangely with Burns's tender handling
of the former's faux pas with the cottar's daughter at
Dunse.* Whatever he may have been in his earlier years,
Robert Ainslie does not appear to advantage in his correspondence
with Cromek, when the latter was collecting
material for his "Reliques." That he was a friend of the
fair-weather species appears from a letter of Burns to
Clarinda, dated June 25th, 1794, in which he says:—
"I had a letter from him (Ainslle) a while ago, but it was so dry,
so distant, so like a card to one of his clients, that I could scarce
bear to read it, and have not yet answered it. He is a good, honest
fellow, and can write a friendly letter .... Though Fame does
not blow her trumpet at my approach now, as she did then, when
he first favoured me with his friendship, yet I am as proud as ever;
and when I am laid in my grave, I wish to be stretched at my full
length, that I may occupy every inch of ground I have a right to."
*See "Robin shure in hairst."
( xxviii )
The tombstones of Burns's contemporaries are in the
valley; his is set upon an hill and cannot be hid.
In treating of the text, no attempt has been made to trace
the authorship of the various compositions save by the evidence
contained in the notes. We do not believe in the
infallibility of any man's Burns instinct, nor can any just
judgment be based on the shifting sand of "the power
exhibited in some of the pieces." Neither can any of the
compositions be rightly ascribed to Burns for the sole reason
that they cannot be traced further back than his period. He
dug in fallow ground and filled his notebook for the most
part from oral recital of what had passed from ear to ear
during many generations. We therefore leave the reader to
draw his own conclusions with regard to the extent of
Burns's contributions to the "clandestine literature" which
is here reprinted as it appeared in the "mean-looking volume"
published in Dumfries a few years after his death. Whether
or not the dishonourable miscreant who purloined the Poet's
manuscript collection from his over-confiding widow, adhered
strictly to the text, or corrupted and added to it like his
enterprising successors, is a question which cannot now be
answered with certainty.
In conclusion, we may thus summarise the discussion:
I. It may be held proved that Burns formed a collection of
old Scots songs of a ribald nature for his own use and
the amusement of the Crochallan Club.
II. He was aware of its value as a historical and literary
curiosity, and treasured it as similar records have been
preserved in all languages; yet he was keenly alive
to the necessity of keeping it from the gaze of the
merely curious and prurient-minded.
( xix )
III. That the MS. was filched from his wife on false pretences
after his decease, and never returned.
IV. That it was printed, probably in Dumfries, circa 1800,
and a limited number put in circulation.
V. Presuming that it was a faithful reproduction of the
MS., it contains 85 compositions in verse. Burns's
name appears nowhere in the book, the title of which
is:—"The Merry Muses of Caledonia—A Collection
of Favourite Scots Songs (ancient and modern)
— Selected for the use of the Crochallan Fencibles."
VI. Of these 85 compositions, only 40 appeared in any subsequent
reprint, nor did any subsequent reprint pretend
to be in any way connected with the first or
"Crochallan" edition.
VII. That a collection of obscene songs was printed in
Dublin prior to 1827, bearing the title, "Merry
Muses," without any reference whatever to Burns.
VIII. That in 1827, a similar collection, with 42 additional
pieces, was "privately printed" somewhere. On the
title page we read:—"The Merry Muses—a choice
Collection of Favourite Songs gathered from many
sources—by Robert Burns—to which is (sic) added
two of his letters and a poem—hitherto suppressed—
and never before printed." One of the letters is dated
March 3rd, 1788, and is addressed, from Mauchline,
to Robert Ainslie; the other, dated May 25th, 1788,
and addressed to James Johnson, will be found in any
standard edition of the Poet's works.
We trust the intention of the present work has now been
made sufficiently clear.
EDITOR.
CONTENTS
(AS IN THE ORIGINAL)
Introduction ............................................page v.
The Fornicator............................................... 33
Beware of the Ripples........................................ 35
The Lass o' Liviston......................................... 36
She's Hoy'd Me Out o' Lauderdale............................. 37
Anna ........................................................ 38
Errock Brae.................................................. 40
My Auntie Jean............................................... 41
Our Gudewife's sae Modest.................................... 41
Wad Ye Do That?.............................................. 42
A' That and A' That.......................................... 43
Muirland Meg ................................................ 44
Ye hae Lien Wrang, Lassie.................................... 45
The Patriarch................................................ 46
Can ye no let me be ?........................................ 48
The Case of Conscience....................................... 49
The Trogger.................................................. 50
The Reel o' Stumpie.......................................... 51
Godly Girzie ................................................ 51
Green Grow the Rashes........................................ 52
The Jolly Gauger ............................................ 54
Nine Inch will Please a Lady................................. 55
Had I the Wyte she Bade Me................................... 56
Ellibanks.................................................... 57
Coming o'er the Hills o' Coupar.............................. 59
Brose and Butter ............................................ 60
Comin' Thro's the Rye........................................ 61
The Bower of Bliss........................................... 62
As I came o'er the Cairney Mount............................. 64
Supper is not Ready.......................................... 65
Yon, Yon, Yon, Lassie........................................ 66
The Yellow, Yellow Yorlin'................................... 67
The Summer Morn.............................................. 68
She Grippet at the Girtest o't............................... 69
Wha'll M—w Me Now ?.......................................... 70
John Anderson my Jo.......................................... 71
A Hole to Hide it in......................................... 73
Duncan Macleerie ............................................ 74
Duncan Davison............................................... 75
O Saw ye my Maggy?........................................... 76
They Took Me to the Holy Band................................ 77
The Ploughman................................................ 78
How Can I Keep my Maidenhead................................. 80
Dainty Davie ................................................ 81
The Moudiwark ............................................... 82
Andrew and his Cutty Gun..................................... 83
The Mill, Mill, 0............................................ 84
O Gat ye me wi' Naething..................................... 85
Can ye Labour Lea, Young Man?................................ 86
Our Jock's Brack Yestreen.................................... 87
She Rose and Loot me in...................................... 88
Gie the Lass her Fairing..................................... 89
Poor Bodies do Naething but Mow.............................. 90
The Cooper o' Cuddy.......................................... 93
There Cam' a Cadger.......................................... 94
Ken ye na our Lass Bess...................................... 94
We're a' Gaun Southie O...................................... 96
Wha the Deil can Hinder the Wind tae Blaw?................... 95
Jockey was a Bonny Lad....................................... 97
My Ain Kind Deary............................................ 98
Here's his Health in Water................................... 99
Act Sederunt of the Court of Session........................ 100
Blyth Will and Bessie's Wedding............................. 102
As I looked o'er you Castle Wa'............................. 103
Logan Water ................................................ 104
The Cooper o' Dundee........................................ 105
Whistle o'er the Lave o't................................... 105
The Ranting Dog the Daddy o't............................... 106
Jenny Macraw ............................................... 107
Nae Hair On't .............................................. 107
The Sodger Laddie .......................................... 108
0 Gin I had her............................................. 109
The Lassie Gath'ring Nits................................... 110
The Linking Laddie.......................................... 110
Tail Todle ................................................. 111
Duncan Gray ................................................ 112
Johnie Scott................................................ 113
I am a Bard................................................. 114
For a' that an' a' that..................................... 115
The Plenipotentiary......................................... 116
My Wife's a Wanton Wee Thing................................ 120
He Till't and She Till't.................................... 120
Madgie cam to my Bedstock................................... 121
Tweedmouth Town ............................................ 122
Wha is that at my Bower Door................................ 123
Come Cow Me Minnie.......................................... 124
The Court of Equity......................................... 127
Letter from Burns to Robert Ainslie......................... 139
Glossary ................................................... 140
THE MERRY MUSES OF CALEDONIA
____
THE FORNICATOR.
TUNE—"Clout the Cauldron."
This is an early production of Burns, and refers to the public
rebuke administered to him by the Kirk Session, in the Autumn
of 1784, following on the birth of "his dear-bought Bess," whose
mother was Elizabeth Paton, a servant of the family while in
Lochlea. An altered version will be found in Scott Douglas's
Kilmarnock edition (vol. ii., p. 420). Burns usually draws upon
his imagination when writing in this vein. The "roguish boy,"
for instance, was of the opposite sex in reality.
Ye jovial boys, who love the joys,
The blissful joys of lovers,
And dare avow wi' dauntless brow,
Whate'er the lass discovers;
I pray draw near, and you shall hear,
And welcome in a frater,
I've lately been in quarantine,
A proven fornicator.
Before the congregation wide
I pass'd the muster fairly,
My handsome Betsy by my side,
We gat our ditty rarely.
My downcast eye, by chance did spy
What made my mouth to water,
*Those hills of snow which wyled me so,
To be a fornicator.
*or, Those limbs so clean, where I between,
Commenced a fornicator.
( 34 )
Wi' ruefu' face, and signs o' grace,
I paid the buttock hire;
The night was dark, and thro' the park,
I couldna but convoy her.
A parting kiss, what could I less ;
My vows began to scatter,
Sweet Betsy fell, fal, lal, de ral,
And I'm a fornicator.
But by the sun and moon I swear,
And I'll fulfill ilk hair o't,
That while I own a single crown,
She's welcome to a share o't.
My roguish boy, his mother's joy,
And darling of his pater,
I for his sake, the name will take,
A hardened fornicator.
( 35 )
BEWARE OF THE RIPPLES
TUNE—"The Tailor fell thro' the bed."
This is an old song, on which Burns modelled "The Bonie
Moor-Hen," which Clarinda advised him not to publish "for
your sake, and for mine," in a letter dated January 30, 1788.
Scott Douglass published it in his Kilmarnock edition, with a
quotation from the old version in his intrdouctory note (Vol. II.,
p. 275).
I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man,
I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man,
Tho' the saddle be saft, ye needna ride aft,
For fear that the girdin' beguile you, young man.
I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man,
I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man;
Tho' music be pleasure, tak' music in measure,
Or ye may want wind in your whistle, young man.
I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man,
I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man;
Whate'er you bestow, do less than ye dow,
The mair will be thought of your kindness, young man.
I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man,
I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man,
If you would be strang, and wish to live lang,
Dance less wi' your a—e to the kipples, young man.
( 36 )
THE LASS O' LIVISTON.
Burns mentions this song in the samples of old pieces surviving
among the peasantry of the West of Scotland which he sent to
Lord Woodhouselee, in August, 1787. Cromek garbled Burns's
note on the song (as was his wont) in his "Select Scottish Songs,"
published in 1810. James C. Dick gives the correct note in his
"Notes on Scottish Song by Robert Burns," published in 1908.
It is as follows:—
"'Pain'd with her slighting Jamie's love,
Bell dropt a tear—Bell dropt a tear;
The gods descended from above
Well pleased to hear, well pleased to hear,' &c.
The original set of verses to this tune is still extant, and have a
very great deal of poetic merit, but are not quite ladies' reading."
The stanza quoted is from an old song of decorous character.
The bonnie lass o' Liviston,
Her name ye ken, her name ye ken,
And aye the welcomer you'll be,
The farther ben, the farther ben.
And she has written in her contract,
To lie her lane, to lie her lane;
And I have written in my contract,
To claw her wame, to claw her wame.
The bonny lass o' Liviston,
She's berry brown, she's berry brown;
And ye winna trow her raven locks,
Gae farther down, gae farther down.
She has a black and rolling e'e,
And a dimplit chin, a dimplit chin,
And no to prie her bonnie mou'
Wad be a sin, wad be a sin.
The bonnie lass o' Liviston,
Came in to me, came in to me,
I wat wi' baith ends o' the busk,
I made her free, I made her free;
I laid her feet to my bed-stock,
Her head to the wa', her head to the wa',
And a gied her her wee coat in her teeth,
Her sark and a', her sark and a'.
( 37 )
SHE'S HOY'D ME OUT O' LAUDERDALE.
An old song recovered by Burns. He incorporated the fifth
line of the last stanza in "The Deuks Dang o'er my Daddie, O!"
An amended version will be found in the Aldyne edition of 1893.
There liv'd a lady in Lauderdale,
She lo'ed a fiddler fine;
She lo'ed him in her chamber,
She held him in her mind;
She made his bed at her bed-stock,
She said he was her brither;
But she's hoy'd him out o' Lauderdale,
His fiddle and a' thegither.
First when I cam' to Lauderdale,
I had a fiddle gude,
My sounding-pin stood like the aik
That grows in Lauder wood;
But now my sounding-pin's gaen down,
And tint the foot for ever;
She's hoy'd me out o' Lauderdale,
My fiddle and a' thegither
First when I cam' to Lauderdale,
Your ladyship can declare,
I play'd a bow, a noble bow,
As e'er was strung wi' hair:
But dow'na do's come o'er me now,
And your ladyship winna consider;
She's hoy'd me out o' Lauderdale,
My fiddle and a' thegither.
( 38 )
ANNA.
TUNE—"The dearest o' the Quorum."
The heroine of this song was Ann Park, a niece of Mrs.
Hyslop, of the Globe Tavern, Dumfries, and mother of Burns's
illegitimate daughter Elizabeth, who was brought up by Jean
Armour as one of her own children. She was born March 31st,
1791; was married to John Thomson, Pollokshaws, to whom
she bore a large family; and died at Crossmyloof, June, 1873,
aged 82. The Globe Tavern was where Burns lodged when his
Excise duties precluded his return to Ellisland, and it remained
to the end of his days his favourite "howff" in Dumfries. What
became of "Anna" is not certainly known. Burns had an extravagant
notion of the merits of this song. He copied the first two
double stanzas into the Glenriddell MS. collection, and the third
stanza appears on another page of the same book. The "postscript"
was added for the benefit of the "Crochallan Fencibles." He sent
a colder-toned version to Thomson, who did not consider it suitable
for his "Collection." In the accompanying letter Burns writes—
"'The Banks of Banna' is to me a heavenly air—what would you
think of a set of Scots verses to it? I made one a good while
ago, which I think is the best love song I ever composed in my
life; but in its original state is not quite a lady's song." This
song is printed in Scott Douglas's Edinburgh edition exactly as it
appears here (Vol. II., p. 292). A MS. of this song, in Burns's
hand, was sold at the Hoe sale, New York, in May, 1911.
Yestre'en I had a pint o' wine,
A place where body saw na,
Yestre'en lay on this breast o' mine
The gowden locks o' Anna.
The hungry Jew in wilderness,
Rejoicing o'er his manna,
Was naething to my hiney bliss,
Upon the lips of Anna.
Ye Monarchs, take the East and West,
Frae Indus to Savannah;
Gi'e me within my straining grasp,
The melting form o' Anna.
Then I'll despise imperial charms,
An Empress or Sultana,
While dying raptures in her arms
I give and take wi' Anna.
( 39 )
Awa', them flaunting God o' Day,
Awa', thou pale Diana,
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray
When I'm to meet my Anna.
Come in thy raven plumage, Night,
Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a',
And bring an angel pen to write
My raptures wi' my Anna.
POSTSCRIPT BY ANOTHER HAND.
The Kirk and State may join and tell
To do sic things I maunna,
The Kirk and State may gae to h—l,
And I'll gae to my Anna.
She is the sunshine o' my e'e,
To love but her I canna;
Had I on earth but wishes three,
The first should be my Anna.
( 40 )
ERROCK BRAE.
TUNE—"Sir Alex. Don's Strathspey."
This is an old song current among the peasantry of that day.
O Errock stane, may never maid
A maiden by thee gae,
Nor e'er a stan' o' stan'in' graith,
Gae stannin' o'er the brae.
For tillin' Errock brae, young man,
And tillin' Errock brae,
An open fur, and stan'in' graith,
Maun till the Errock brae.
As I sat by the Errock stane,
Surveying far and near,
Up came a Cameronian,
Wi' a' his preaching gear.
For tillin', etc.
He flang the Bible o'er the brae,
Amang the rashy gerse,
But the Solemn League and Covenant,
He laid below my a—e.
For tillin', etc.
But on the edge of Errock brae,
He gae me sic a sten,
That o'er, and o'er, and o'er we row'd,
Till we cam' to the glen.
For tillin', etc.
Yet still his p—t—e held the grip,
And still his b--l--ks hang,
That a Synod couldna tell the a—e,
To wham they did belang.
For tillin', etc.
( 41 )
A prelate he loups on before,
A Catholic behin',
But gi'c me a Cameronian,
He f------s a body blin'.
For tillin', etc.
_______________________
MY AUNTIE JEAN.
TUNE—"John Anderson, my jo."
This fragment is attributed to Burns. In a letter to Samuel
Brown, Ballochneil, Kirkoswald (his mother's half-brother), dated
May, 1788, he refers to the "Ailsa fowling season," and asks him
to procure for him "three or four stones of feathers."
My auntie Jean held to the shore,
As Ailsa boats cam' back ;
And she has coft a feather bed
For twenty and a plack;
And in it she wan fifty mark,
Before a towmond sped;
O! what a noble bargain
Was auntie Jeanie's bed.
______________________
OUR GUDEWIFE'S SAE MODEST.
TUNE—"John Anderson, my jo."
This is an old fragment
Our gudewife's sae modest,
When she is set at meat,
A laverock's leg, or a tittling's wing,
Is mair than she can eat;
But, when she's in her bed at e'en,
Between me and the wa';
She is a glutton deevil,
She swallows c—ds and a'.
( 42 )
WAD YE DO THAT?
TUNE—"John Anderson, my jo"
An old song before Burns's time.
Gudewife, when your gudeman's frae hame,
Might I but be sae bauld,
As come into your bed-chamber,
When winter nights are cauld?
As come into your bed-chamber,
When nights are cauld and wat,
And lie down in your gudeman's stead,
Gudewife, wad ye do that?
Young man, if ye should be so kind,
When my gudeman's frae hame,
As come into my bed-chamber,
Where I am laid my lane,
And lie down in my gudeman's stead,
Young man, I'll tell you what,
He f------s me five times ilka night,
Young man, wad ye do that?
( 43 )
A' THAT AND A' THAT
The refrain is an old one, common to several old songs of this
kind. Burns followed the old model in the "bard's song" of the
"Jolly Beggars," as well as in his immortal ode "A man's a man
for a' that."
Put butter in my Donald's brose,
For wed does Donald fa' that;
I lo'e my Donald's tartan hose,
His naked a—e, and a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
And twice as mickle's a' that,
The lassie gat a skelpit doup,
But wan the day for a' that.
For Donald swore a solemn aith,
By his first hairy gravat,
That he would fecht the battle there,
And stick the lass and a' that.
For a' that, etc.
His hairy b--l--ks side and wide,
Hung like a beggar's wallet;
His p--k stood like a rollin' pin,
She nicher'd when she saw that.
For a' that, etc.
Then she turned up her h—ry c--t,
And she bade Donald claw that;
The devil's dizzen Donald drew,
And Donald gied her a' that.
For a' that, etc.
( 44 )
MUIRLAND MEG.
TUNE—"Eppy Macnab."
An old song, a copy of which exists in Burns's handwriting.
Amang our young lasses there's Muirland Meg,
She'll beg or she work, and she'll play or she beg;
At thretteen her maidenhead flew to the gate,
An' the door o' her cage stands open yet.
And for a sheep-cloot she'll do't, she'll do't,
And for a sheep-cloot she'll do't;
And for a toop-horn she'll do't to the morn,
And merrily turn and do't, and do't.
Her kittle black een they wad thirl ye thro',
Her rosebud lips cry kiss me just now;
The curls and links o' her bonny black hair,
Wad put you in mind that the lassie has mair.
And for, etc.
An armfu' o' love is her bosom sae plump;
A span o' delight is her middle sae jimp,
A taper white leg, and a thumpin' thie,
And a fiddle near by ye can play a wee.
And for, etc.
Love's her delight and kissing's her treasure,
She'll stick at nae price an ye gie her good measure;
As lang's a sheep-fit an' as girt's a goose egg,*
O, that's the measure o' Muirland Meg.
And for, etc.
* "As long's a sheep's-foot and as large's a goose egg."
( 45 )
YE HAE LIEN WRANG, LASSIE
TUNE—"Up and waur then a, Willie"
An old song in circulation before Burns's day. A version of
this song, almost identical with this, will be found in the Aldyne
edition of 1893.
Ye hae lien wrang, lassie,
Ye hae lien a' wrang,
Ye've lien in some unco bed,
And wi' some unco man.
Your rosy cheeks are turn'd sae wan,
You're greener than the grass, lassie,
Your coatie's shorter by a span,
Yet deil an inch the less, lassie.
Ye hae lien, &c.
You've let the pownie o'er the dyke,
And he's been in the corn, lassie;
For aye the brose ye sup at e'en,
Ye bock them ere the morn, lassie.
Ye hae lien, &c.
Fu' lightly lap ye o'er the knowe,
And thro' the wood ye sang, lassie;
But herryin' o' the foggy byke,
I fear ye've got a stang, lassie.
Ye hae lien, &c.
( 46 )
THE PATRIARCH.
TUNE—"The Auld Cripple Dow."
This is by Burns. The original MS. was in the possession
of a gentleman in Forfar. It is headed—
"A Wicked Song.
"Author's name unknown.
"Tune—The waukin' o' a winter's night.
"The Publisher to the Reader,
"Courteous Reader,
"The following is certainly the production of one of
those licentious, ungodly (too-much-abounding in this our day)
wretches who take it as a compliment to be called wicked, provided
you allow them to be witty. Pity it is that while so many tar
barrels in the country are empty, and so many gibbets untenanted,
some example is not made of these profligates." Burns pursues
this satirical-humorous vein in his mock manifesto as "Poet Laureat
and Bard-in-Chief of Kyle, Cuningham, and Carrick," addressed
(November 20th, 1786) to William Chalmers and John M'Adam,
"students and practitioners in the ancient and mysterious Science
of confounding Right and Wrong." A reprint of the whole manifesto
will be found in Scott Douglas's Edinburgh edition (Vol. IV.,
p. 163). The following extract indicates the drift of it:—
"Be it known, that . , . we have discovered a certain nefarious,
abominable, and wicked song or ballad, a copy whereof we
have enclosed; Our will therefore is ... that the said copy
shall be consumed by fire at the Cross of Ayr ... in the presence
of all beholders, in abhorrence of, and terrorem to, all such
compositions and composers. Given at Mauchline this twentieth
day of November, Anno Domini one thousand seven hundred
and eighty-six.—God save the Bard."
As honest Jacob on a night,
With his beloved beauty,
Was duly laid on wedlock's bed,
And noddin' at his duty.
Chorus—Fal de dal, &c.
"How lang," she cried, "ye fumbling wretch,
Will ye be f------ing at it ?
My auldest wean might die o' age,
Before that ye could get it.
Fal de dal, &c.
( 47 )
"Ye pegh and grane, and goazle there,
And make an unco splutter,
And I maun lie and thole you, though
I'm fient a hair the better."
Fal de dal, &c.
Then he in wrath put up his graith,
"The devil's in the hizzie,
I mow you as I mow the lave,
And night and day I'm busy.
Fal de dal, &c.
"I've bairned the servant gipsies baith,
Forbye your titty Leah,
Ye barren jade, ye put me mad,
What mair can I do wi' you?
Fal de dal, &c.
"There's ne'er a mow I've gien the lave,
But ye hae got a dizzen.
But d------d a ane ye'se get again,
Although your c--t should gizzen"
Fal de dal, &c.
Then Rachel, calm as ony lamb,
She claps him on the waulies;
Quo' she, "Ne'er fash a woman's clash,*
In troth ye mow me brawlies.
Fal de dal, &c.
"My dear 'tis true, for mony a mow,
I am your gratefu' debtor,
But ance again, I dinna ken,
Will aiblins happen better."
Fal de dal, &c.
The honest man wi' little wark,
He soon forgot his ire;
The patriarch he coost the sark,
And up and till't like fire.
Fal de dal, &c.
* "Never trouble over a woman's chatter."
( 48 )
CAN YE NO LET ME BE
TUNE—"I have laid a Herring in Saut."
An old song in metre characteristic of old compositions of
the kind.
There lived a wife in Whistle Cockpen,
Will ye no, can ye no, let me be,
She brewed good ale for gentlemen,
And aye she waggit it wantonly.
The night blew sair wi' wind and weet,
Will ye no, can ye no, let me be?
She shewed the traveller ben to sleep,
And aye she waggit it wantonly.
She saw a sight below his sark,
Will ye no, can ye no, let me be?
She wished she had it for a merk,
And aye she waggit it wantonly.
She saw a sight aboon his knee,
Will ye no, can ye no, let me be?
She would not wanted it for three,
And aye she waggit it wantonly.
O where live ye, and what's yer trade ?
Will be no, can ye no, let me be?
I am a thresher gude, he said,
And aye she waggit it wantonly.
And that's my flail, and working graith,
Will ye no, can ye no, let me be ?
And noble tools, quoth she, by my faith!
And aye she waggit it wantonly.
I would gie ye a browst, the best I hae,
Will ye no, can ye no, let me be?
For a good night's work with tools like thae,
And aye she waggit it wantonly.
I would sell the hair frae aff my tail,
Will ye no, can ye no, let me be?
To buy our Andrew sic a flail,
And aye she waggit it wantonly.
( 49 )
THE CASE OF CONSCIENCE.
TUNE—"Auld Sir Simon the King."
An old song.
I'll tell you a tale of a wife,
And she was a Whig and a saunt,
She lived a most sanctify'd life,
But whiles she was fashed wi' her c--t.
Poor woman, she gaed to the Priest,
And to him she made her complaint,
There's naething that troubles my breast
Sae sair as the sins of my c--t.
He bade her to cheer up her brow,
And no be discourag'd upon't,
For holy good women enow
Are mony times waur'd wi' their c--t.
It's nocht but Beelzebub's art,
And that's the mair sign of a saunt,
He kens that ye're pure at the heart,
So he levels his dart at your c--t.
O ye that are called and free,
Elected and chosen a saunt,
Won't break the eternal decree,
Whatever you do wi' your c--t.
And now wi' a sanctify'd kiss,
Let's kneel and renew the cov'nant.
It's this—and it's this—and it's this,
That settles the pride of your c--t.
Devotion flew up to a flame,
No words can do justice upon't.
The honest auld woman gaed hame,
Rejoicing, and clawing her c--t.
( 50 )
THE TROGGER.
Anonymous; probably not older than Burns's time. Scott Douglas
quotes a stanza of it in his 6 vol. edition (Vol. III., p. 247),
and gives his opinion on the authorship or the song.
As I cam' down by Annan side,
Intending for the Border,
Amang the Scroggie banks and braes,
Wha met I but a trogger.
He laid me down upon my back,
I thought he was but jokin',
Till he was in me to the hilts,
O the deevil tak' sic troggin!
What could I say, what could I do,
I bann'd and sair misca'd him,
But whiltie-whaltie gaed his a—e
The mair that I forbade him;
He stell'd his foot against a stane,
And doubl'd ilka stroke in,
Till I gaed daft amang his hands,
O the deevil tak' sic troggin!
Then up we raise, and took the road,
And in by Ecclefechan,
Where the brandy-stoup we gart it clink,*
And the strang-beer ream the quech in.
Bedown the bents o' Bonshaw braes,
We took the partin' yokin';
But I've clawed a sairy c--t sin' syne,
O the deevil tak' sic troggin!
* "the brandy-cup we made it clink"
And the strong-beer foam the mug in."
( 51 )
THE REEL O' STUMPIE.
An old fragment.
Wap and rowe, wap and rowe,
Wap and rowe the feetie o't;
I thought I was a maiden fair,
Till I heard the greetie o't.
My daddie was a fiddler fine,
My minnie she made mantie, O;
And I mysel' a thumpin' quine,
And danced the reel o' stumpie, O.
________________________
GODLY GIRZIE.
TUNE—"Wat ye wha I met yestreen."
Anonymous, but quite in Burns's style. Burns never once
mentions the Craigie hills, familiar as he was with the Kilmarnock
district.
The night it was a haly night,
The day had been a haly day;
Kilmarnock gleamed wi' candle light,
As Girzie hameward took her way.
A man o' sin, ill may he thrive!
And never haly-meeting see!
Wi' godly Girzie met belyve,
Amang the Craigie hills sae hie.
The chiel was wight, the chiel was stark,
He wadna wait to chap nor ca',
And she was faint wi' haly wark,
She had na pith to say him na.
But ay she glowr'd up to the moon,
And ay she sighed most piouslie,
"I trust my heart's in heaven aboon,
Whare'er you sinfu' p—t—e be."
( 52 )
GREEN GROW THE RASHES.
Regarding the ribald version of this song current in his day,
Burns writes to Thomson, in April, 1793—"At any rate, my other
song, 'Green grow the rashes,' will never suit. The song is
current in Scotland under the old title, and to the merry old tune
of that name, which of course would mar the progress of your
song to celebrity. Your book will be the standard of Scots song
for the future; let this idea ever keep your judgment on the
alarm." From the older version in Herd's publication (1776),
Burns quotes the first stanza, in a letter to John Richmond (Sept.
30, 1786), the occasion being the birth of the first twins by Jean
Armour.
Green grow the rashes, O,
Green grow the rashes, O,
The lassies they hae wimble-bores,
The widows they hae gashes, O.
O wat ye ought o' fisher Meg,
And how she trow'd the wabster, O,
She loot me see her carrot c--t,
And sell'd it for a labster, O.
Green grow, &c.
Mistress Mary cow'd her thing,
Because she wad be gentle, O,
And span the fleece upon a rock,
To waft a Highland mantle, O.
Green grow, &c.
An' heard ye o' the coat o' arms
The Lyon brought our lady, O,
The crest was couchant, sable c--t,
The motto, "Ready, Ready," O.
Green grow, &c.
An' ken ye Leezie Lundie, O,
The godly Leezie Lundie, O;
She m—s like reek thro' a' the week
But finger fr—gs on Sunday, O.
Green grow, &c.
( 53 )
AN OLDER VERSION.
Green grow the rashes, O,
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest bed that e'er I got,
Was the bellies o' the lassies, O.
'Twas late yestreen I met wi' ane
And wow but she was gentle, O;
Ae han' she pat to my gravat,
The tither to my p—t—e, O.
Green grow, &c.
I dought na speak, yet was na fly'd,
My heart play'd duntie, duntie, O.
A' ceremonie laid aside,
I fairly faund her c--t—ie, O.
Green grow, &c.
( 54 )
THE JOLLY GAUGER
TUNE—"We'll gang nae mair a rovin'."
Anonymous. A close parody on "There was a jolly beggar,"
ascribed to King James V.
There was a jolly gauger, an' a gaugin' he did ride,
And he has met a beggar lass down by yon river side;
An' we'll gang nae mair a rovin' wi' ladies to the wine,
When a beggar wi' her meal-pocks can fidge her tail sae fine.
And he's fa'n to the beggar, as she had been a queen;
Amang the broom he laid her, amang the broom sae green,
An' we'll gang nae mair a rovin' wi' ladies to the wine,
When a beggar wi' her meal-pocks can fidge her tail sae fine.
My blessings on thee, laddie, thou's done my turn sae weel,
Wilt thou accept, dear laddie, my pock and pickle meal?
An' we'll gang nae mair a rovin' wi' ladies to the wine,
When a beggar wi' her meal-pocks can fidge her tail sae fine.
Sae blythe the beggar took the bent, like ony bird in spring,
Sae blythe the beggar took the bent, and merrily did sing;
An' we'll gang nae mair a rovin' wi' ladies to the wine,
When a beggar wi' her meal-pocks can fidge her tail sae fine.
My blessings on the gauger, o' gaugers he's the chief;
Sic kail ne'er crost my kettle, nor sic a joint o' beef;
An' we'll gang nae mair a rovin' wi' ladies to the wine,
When a beggar wi' her meal-pocks can fidge her tail sae fine.
( 55 )
NINE INCH WILL PLEASE A LADY.
TUNE—"The Quakers Wife"
Anonymous, but evidently old; perhaps brushed up a little.
Come rede me, dame, come tell me, dame,
My dame, come tell me truly,
What length o' graith, when weel ca'd hame,
Will ser'e a woman duly?
The carlin clew her wanton tail,
Her wanton tail sae ready;
I learn't a sang in Annandale,
Nine inch will please a lady.
But for a countrie c--t like mine,
In sooth we're nae sae gentle;
We'll tak' twa thumb-bread to the nine,
And that's a sonsie p—t—e.
O leeze me on my Charlie lad!
I'll ne'er forget my Charlie!
Twa roarin' handfu' and a daud,
He nidg't it in fu' rarely.
But weary fa' the laithern doup,
And may it ne'er ken thrivin';
It's no the length that gars me loup,
But it's the double drivin'.
Come nidge me Tarn, come nodge me Tam,
Come nidge me o'er the nyvle;
Come louse and lug your batterin' ram,
And thrash him at my gyvel.
( 56 )
HAD I THE WYTE SHE BADE ME.
An old song, of which there is more than one version. The
setting of the "servant man and the lady" is common to many
free songs of the kind, some of which are still current in Ayrshire.
An amended version will be found in the Aldyne edition of 1893.
The same version appears in Scott Douglas's 6 vol. edition (Vol.
III., p. 270), with a note to the effect that it superseded the old
song.
Had I the wyte, had I the wyte,
Had I the wyte she bade me;
For she was steward in the house,
And I was fit-man laddie;
And when I wadna do't again,
A silly cow she ca'd me;
She straik't my head, and clapt my cheeks,
And lous'd my breeks and bade me.
Could I for shame, could I for shame,
Could I for shame denied her;
Or in the bed was I to blame
She bade me lye beside her:
I pat six inches in her warne,
A quarter wadna fiy'd her;
For ay the mair I ca'd it hame,
Her ports they grew the wider.
My tartan plaid when it was dark,
Could I refuse to share it;
She lifted up her holland sark,
And bade me fin the gair o't;
Or how could I amang the gerse,
But gie her hilt and hair o't;
She clasped her houghs about my a—e,
And ay she glowr'd for mair o't.
( 57 )
ELLIBANKS.
TUNE—"Gillicrankie."
An old song, which appeared in the "Dublin Collection" (1769).
Burns evidently meditated a purified version, for he writes to Robert
Ainslie (November, 1791) a melancholy and penitential letter, in
which this passage occurs—"I began 'Elibanks and Elibraes,' but
the stanzas fell unenjoyed and unfinished from my listless tongue."
On his Border tour, he saw "Elibanks and Elibraes on the other
side of the Tweed," on which one of his editors (Scott Douglas)
remarks—"An old free-spoken song which celebrates this locality
would be enough in itself to bring the poet twenty miles out of
his road to see it."
Ellibanks and Ellibraes,
My blessin's ay befa' them,
Tho' I wish I had brunt a' my claes,
The first time e'er I saw them;
Your succar kisses were sae sweet,
Deil haet if I can tell, man,
How ye gart me lay my legs abreed,
And lift my sark mysel', man.
There's no a lass in a' the land,
Can f—k sae weel as I can;
Louse down your breeks, lug out your wand,
Hae ye nae mind to try, man ;
For ye're the lad that wears the breeks,
And I'm the lass that loes ye;
Deil rive my c--t to candle-wicks
Gif ever I refuse ye!!
I'll clasp my arms about your neck,
As I were gaun to speel, jo;
I'll cleek my houghs about your a—e,
As souple as an eel, jo;
I'll cleek my houghs about your a—e,
As I were gaun to speel, jo;
And if Jock thief he should slip out,
I'll ding him wi' my heel, jo.
( 58 )
Green be the broom on Ellibraes,
And yellow be the gowan!
My wame it fistles ay like fleas,
As I come o'er the knowe, man;
My blessin's on that bonny knowe,
Our bed amang the heather,
Where sic a tuip to sic a ewe,
Was never matched thegither.
There I lay glowran to the moon,
Your mettle wadna daunton,
For hard your hurdies hotch'd aboon,
While I below lay pantin'.
The following is a M.S. version recovered by Scott
Douglas:—
O Elibanks and Elibraes,
My blessin's aye befa' them,
They mind me o' the sunny days,
When first wi' thee I saw them,
Your succar kisses were sae sweet,
Deil haet if I can tell, man,
How ye gart me lay my legs abreed,
And lift my sark mysel', man.
I clasped my arms about your neck,
As I were gaun tae spiel, jo,
And cleek'd my houghs about your thies,
As souple as an eel, jo.
Your wauly p—t—e felt my grip
And made my senses reel, jo,
And when Jock thief inclin'd to slip,
I dang him wi' my heel, Jo.
Oure Elibanks and Elibraes,
We wander'd at our will, jo,
Till tir'd o' pu'in' nits and slaes,
We drank of love our fill, jo;
My shepherd laddie, bless his breeks.
Kens whatna lassie loes him,
Deil rive my c--t to candle-weeks,
Gif ever I refuse him.
( 59 )
COMING O'ER TE HILLS O' COUPAR.
TUNE—"Ruffians Rant"
An old song with internal evidence that it hails from the East
coast.
Coming o'er the Hills o' Coupar,
Coming o'er the Hills o' Coupar,
Donald in a sudden wrath,
Ran his Highland dirk into her.
Donald Brodie met a lass,
Coming o'er the Hills o' Coupar,
Donald wi' his Highland wand,
Sounded a' the bits about her.
Coming o'er, &c.
Weel I wat she was a quean
Wad mak' a body's mouth to water;
Our mess John, wi's auld grey pow,
His holy lips wad lickit at her.
Coming o'er, &c.
Up she started in a fright,
And o'er the braes what she could bicker,
Let her gang, said Donald now,
For in her a—e my shot is sicker
Coming o'er, &c.
( 60 )
BROSE AND BUTTER.
An old song. Burns transferred the first two lines of the
4th stanza to another composition.
Jenny sits up in the laft,
Jockey would fain be at her,
But there cam' a wind out o' the west,
Made a' the winnocks to clatter.
O gi'e my love brose, brose,
O gi'e my love brose and butter,
For nane in Carrick but him
Can please a lassie better.
The lavrock lo'es the grass,
The paitrick lo'es the stibble;
And hey for the gardener lad,
To gully away wi' his dibble.*
O gi'e my love, &c.
My daddie sent me to the hill,
To pu' my minnie some heather,
And drive it in your fill,
Ye're welcome to the leather.
O gi'e my love, &c.
The mouse is a merry wee beast,
Th moudiewart wants the een;
And O for a touch of the thing,
I had in my nieve yestreen.
O gi'e my love, &c.
We a' were fou yestreen,
The night shall be its brither,
And hey for a merry pin,
To nail twa wames thegither.
O gi'e my love, &c.
* To work with his tool.
( 61 )
COMIN' THRO' THE RYE.
An old song which Burns's purified version completely superseded.
There is an echo of "Errock Brae" in the third line of
the chorus.
Comin' thro' the rye, my jo,
An' comin' thro' the rye,
She fand a staun o' staunin' graith,
Comin' thro' the rye.
O gin a body meet a body,
Comin' thro' the rye;
Gin a body f—k a body,
Need a body cry.
Comin', &c.
Gin a body meet a body,
Comin' thro' the glen;
Gin a body f—k a body,
Need the warld ken.
Comin', &c.
Gin a body meet a body,
Comin' thro' the grain;
Gin a body f—k a body,
C------'s a body's ain.
Comin', &c.
Gin a body meet a body,
By a body's sel,
Whatna body f------s a body,
Wad a body tell
Comin', &c.
Mony a body meets a body,
They dare na weel avow;
Mony a body f------s a body,
Ye wad na think it true.
Comin', &c.
( 62 )
THE BOWER OF BLISS.
TUNE—"Logan Water."
In a letter from Burns to Wm. Stewart, Closeburn, dated
Ellisland, Wednesday evening, he writes—"'I go for Ayrshire
tomorrow, so cannot have the pleasure of meeting you for some time,
but anxious for your spiritual welfare and growth in grace, I
enclose you the Plenipo.* You will see another, the "Bower of
Bliss," 'tis the work of a Rev. Doctor of the Church of Scotland.
Would to Heaven a few more of them would turn their fiery zeal
that way. There they might spend their holy fury, and show
the tree by its fruits!!! There, the inbearing workings might
give hopeful presages of a new birth!!!! The other two are by
the author of the Plenipo. 'The Doctor' is not half there, as I have
mislaid it. I have no copies left of either, so must have the
precious pieces again." This shows the part played by the poet's
boon companions in the compilation of the Crochallan collection.
The Plenipo did not find a place in the printed volume, but it
was inserted in subsequent editions of the "Merry Muses." Its
author was a Captain Morris, author of "Songs Drinking, Political
and Facetious," published circa 1790.
The "high-kilted" muse does not become drawing-room costume.
The deliberate, downright, mother-naked coarseness of the
vernacular is infinitely preferable to this sickening stuff, which
is Greek to the peasant, who calls a spade a spade because he has
no other word for it.
Whilst others to thy bosom rise,
And paint the glories of thine eyes,
Or bid thy lips and cheeks disclose
The unfading bloom of Eden's rose;
Less obvious charms my song inspire
Which gods and men alike admire—
Less obvious charms, not less divine,
I sing that lovely bower of thine.
Rich gem! worth India's wealth alone,
How much pursued, how little known;
Tho' rough its face, tho' dim its hue,
It soils the lustre of Peru.
The vet'ran such a prize to gain,
Might all the toils of war sustain;
The devotee forsake his shrine,
To venerate that bower of thine.
* See page 117.
( 63 )
When the stung heart feels keen desire,
And through each vein pours liquid fire;
When with flush'd cheeks and burning eyes,
Thy lover to thy bosom flies;
Believe, dear maid, believe my vow,
By Venus' self, I swear, 'tis true!
More bright the higher beauties shine,
Illum'd by that strange bower of thine.
What thought sublime, what lofty strain
Its wondrous virtues can explain?
No place howe'er remote, can be
From its intense attraction free;
Tho' more elastic far than steel,
Its force ten thousand needles feel;
Pleas'd their high temper to resign,
In that magnetic bower of thine.
Irriguous vale, embrown'd with shades,
Which no intrinsic storm pervades!
Soft clime, where native summer glows!
And nectar's living current flows!
Not Tempe's vale, renowned of yore,
Of charms could boast such endless store:
More than Elysian sweets combine,
To grace that smiling bower of thine.
O may no rash invader stain,
Love's warm, sequestered virgin fane!
For me alone let gentle fate,
Preserve the dear august retreat!
Along its banks when shall I stray?
The beauteous landscape when survey ?
How long in fruitless anguish pine,
Nor view unveil'd that bower of thine.
O! let my tender, trembling hand,
The awful gate of life expand!
With all its wonders feast my sight;
Dear prelude to immense delight!
Till plung'd in liquid joy profound,
The dark unfathom'd deep I sound;
All panting on thy breast recline,
And, murmuring, bless that bower of thine.
( 64 )
AS I CAME O'ER THE CAIRNEY MOUNT.
An old song. A purified version by Burns will be found in
Scott Douglas's Kilmarnock edition (Vol. II., p. 29). Burns writes
to Thomson (Sept., 1793), "There is a third tune, and what Oswald
calls 'The Old Highland Laddie,' which pleases me more than
either of them; it is sometimes called ' 'Jinglin' Johnie,' that being
the air of an old humorous bawdy song of that name—you will
find it in the Museum." In the Genriddel MS. he says: "The
'Highland Laddie' is an excellent but somewhat licentious song
beginning, 'As I cam' o'er the Cairney Mount.'"
As I came o'er the Cairney mount,
And down among the blooming heather,
The Highland laddie drew his dirk
And sheath'd it in my wanton leather.
O my bonnie, bonnie Highland lad,
My handsome, charming Highland laddie;
When I am sick and like to die,
He'll row me in his Highland plaidie.
With me he play'd his warlike pranks,
And on me boldly did adventure,
He did attack me on both flanks,
And pushed me fiercely in the centre
O my bonnie, &c.
A furious battle then began,
Wi' equal courage and desire,
Altho' he struck me three to one,
I stood my ground and receiv'd his fire.
O my bonnie, &c.
But our ammunition being spent,
And we quite out o' breath an' sweating,
We did agree with ae consent,
To fight it out at the next meeting.
O my bonnie, &c.
( 65 )
SUPPER IS NOT READY.
TUNE—"Clout the Cauldron"
This is an old fragment.
Roseberry to his Lady says,
My hinnie and my succar,
O shall we do the thing you ken
Or shall we take our supper,
Fal lal, &c.
Wi' modest face, sae full of grace,
Reply'd his bonny Lady,
"My noble Lord, do as you please,
But supper is not ready."
Fal lal, &c.
( 66 )
YON, YON, YON, LASSIE.
TUNE—"Ruffian's Rant."
An old song.
O, yon, yon, yon, lassie,
Yon, yon, yon,
I never met a bonny lass,
But wad play at yon.
O yon, yon, &c.
I never saw a silken gown,
But I wad kiss the sleeve o't;
I never saw a maidenhead,
That I wad spier the leave o't.
O yon, yon, &c.
Tell na me o' Meg my wife,
Her crowdie has na savour,
But gie to me a bonny lass,
And let me steal the favour.
O yon, yon, &c.
Gie me her I kissed yestreen,
I vow but she was handsome,
For ilka hair upon her c--t,
Was worth a royal ransom.
O yon, yon, &c.
( 67 )
THE YELLOW, YELLOW YORLIN'.
TUNE—"Bonnie beds of roses," or rather "The Collier
Laddie"
An old song.
It fell on a day, in the flow'ry month o' May,
All on a merry, merry morning,
I met a pretty maid, an' unto her I said,
I wad fain fin' your yellow, yellow yorlin'.
O no, young man, says she, you're a stranger to me,
An' I am my faither's darlin',
I am herding his ewes that's feedin' in the howes,
An' ye maunna touch my yellow, yellow yorlin'.
But if I lay you down upon the dewy ground,
You wad na be the waur ae farthin';
An' your fairher, honest man, he never cou'd ken
That I play'd wi' your yellow, yellow yorlin'.
O fie, young man, says she, I pray you let me be,
I wad na for five pound sterling;
My mither wad gae mad, an' sae wad my dad,
If you play'd wi' my yellow, yellow yorlin'.
But I took her by the waist, an' laid her down in haste,
For a' her squakin' an' squalin';
The lassie soon grew tame, an' bade me come again
For to play wi' her yellow, yellow yorlin'.
( 68 )
THE SUMMER MORN
TUNE "Push about the Jorum,"
This is by Burns. The following is what he wrote to Thomson
regarding it in January, 1795:—"To wander a little from my first
design, which was to give you a new song just hot from the mint,
give me leave to squeeze in a clever anecdote of my Spring originality.
Some years ago, when I was young and by no means the
saint I am now, I was looking over, in company with a belle lettre
friend, a magazine 'Ode to Spring,' when my friend fell foul of
the recurrence of the same thoughts, and offered me a bet that it
was impossible to produce an ode to Spring on an original plan.
I accepted it, and pledged myself to bring in the verdant fields,
the budding flowers, the crystal streams, the melody of the groves,
and a love story into the bargain, and yet be original. Here follows
the piece, and wrote to music, too." Along with this composition,
he forwarded Thomson his immortal ode, "A man's a man for a'
that." The second stanza is quoted in Scott Douglas's 5 vol. edition
(Vol. III., p. 17), with but one word changed in the last line.
When maukin bucks, at early f—ks,
In dewy glens are seen, sir,
When birds on boughs tak aff their m—ws,
Amang the leaves sae green, sir,
Latona's son looks liquorish on
Dame Nature's grand impetus,
Till his p—t—e rise, then westward flies,
To f—k old Madame Thetis.
Yon wandering rill, that marks the hill,
And glances o'er the brae, sir,
Slides by a bower, where mony a flower
Sheds fragrance on the day, sir.
There Damon lay with Silvia gay,
To love they thought nae crime, sir,
The wild birds sang, the echoes rang,
While Damon's a—e beat time, sir.
( 69 )
First wi' the thrush, he thrust and pushed
His p—t—e large and strong, sir,
The black bird next, his tunefu' text,
Made him both bold and strong, sir.
The linnet's lay came then in play,
And the lark that soared aboon, sir,
Till Damon fierce, mistimed his a—e,
And spent quite out of tune, sir.
_____________________
SHE GRIPPET AT THE GIRTEST O'T.
TUNE—"East Neuk o' Fife."
An old song.
Our bride flat and our bride flang,
But lang before the laverock sang,
She paid him twice for every bang.
And grippet at the girtest o't.
Our bride turn'd her to the wa',
But lang before the cock did craw,
She took him by the cock and a',
And grippet at the girtest o't.
( 70 )
WHA'LL MOW ME NOW?
TUNE—"Coming through the Rye" An old song.
O wha'll mow me now, my jo,
And wha'll mow me now,
A sodger with his bandileers
Has bang'd my belly fou.
O I hae tint my rosy cheek,
Likewise my waist sae sma',
O wae gae wi' the sodger loon,
The sodger did it a'.
And wha'll, &c.
For I maun thole the scornfu' sneer,
O mony a saucy queen.
When, curse upon her godly face,
Her c------'s as merry's mine.
And wha'll, &c.
Our dame holds up her wanton tail,
As oft as she down lies,
And yet misca's a young thing,
The trade if she but tries.
And wha'll, &c.
Our dame has aye her ain gudeman,
And f------s for glutton greed,
And yet misca's a poor thing,
That f------s for its bread.
And wha'll, &c.
Alack! sae sweet a tree as love,
Sae bitter fruit should bear,
Alas! that e'er a merry c--t,
Should draw so mony a tear.
And wha'll, &c.
But devil tak' the lousy loon,
Denies the bairn he got,
Or leaves the merry lass he lo'ed,
To wear a ragged coat.
And wha'll, &c.
( 71 )
JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.
This is the old song which Burns's purified version superseded.
The first two lines of the last stanza occur in "Annie Laurie."
John Anderson my jo, John,
I wonder what you mean,
To rise so soon in the morning,
And sit up so late at e'en?
You'll blear out all your een, John.
And why will you do so?
Come sooner to your bed at e'en,
John Anderson my jo.
John Anderson my friend, John,
When first you did begin,
You had as good a tail-tree
As ony ither man.
But now 'tis waxen auld, John,
And it waggles to and fro;
And it never stands its lane now,
John Anderson my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John,
You can f—k where'er you please,
Either in our warm bed,
Or else aboon the claise;
Or you shall have the horns, John,
Upon your head to grow;
That is a cuckold's malison,
John Anderson my jo.
So when you want to f—k, John,
See that you do your best,
When you begin to sh—g me,
See that you grip me fast;
See that you grip me fast, John,
Until that I cry Oh!
Your back shall crack, e'er I cry slack,
John Anderson my jo.
( 72 )
Oh! but it is a fine thing
To keek out o'er the dyke,
But 'tis a muckle finer thing,
When I see your hurdies fyke;
When I see your hurdies fyke, John,
And wriggle to and fro;
'Tis then I like your chaunter-pipe,
John Anderson my jo.
I'm backit like a salmon,
I'm breasted like a swan,
My wame it is a down cod,
My middle you may span;
From my crown until my tae, John,
I'm like the new-fa'n snow;
And 'tis a' for your conveniency,
John Anderson my jo.
( 73 )
A HOLE TO HIDE IT IN.
TUNE—"Waukin o' the Fauld"
An old song.
O will ye speak at our town,
As ye come frae the fair,
And ye'se got a hole to hide it in,
Will haud it a' and mair.
O haud awa' your hand, sir,
Ye gar me aye think shame,
And ye'se got a hole to hide it in,
And think yoursel' at hame.
O will ye let me be, sir,
Toots! now ye've reft my sark,
And ye'se got a hole to hide it in,
Whar ye may work your wark.
O haud awa' your hand, sir,
Ye're like to make me daft,
And ye'se got a hole to hide it in,
To keep it warm and saft.
O haud it in your hand, sir,
Till I get up my claes,
Now f—k me as you'd f—k for life,
I hope your cock will please.
( 74 )
DUNCAN MACLEERIE.
TUNE—"Jockey Macgill."
An old song.
Duncan Macleerie and Janet his wife,
They gaed to Kilmarnock to buy a new knife,
But instead of a knife they coft but a bleerie,
We're very well saired, Janet, quoth Duncan Macleerie.
Duncan Macleerie has got a new fiddle,
It's a' strung wi' hair, and a hole in the middle,
And aye when he plays on't his wife looks sae cheerie,
Weel done, my Duncan, quoth Janet Macleerie.
Duncan he played till his bow it grew greasy,
Janet grew fretfu' and unco uneasy,
Hoots! quoth she, Duncan, ye're unco soon weary,
Play us a pibroch, quoth Janet Macleerie.
Duncan Macleerie he played on the harp,
Janet Macleerie she danced in her sark,
Her sark it was short, her c--t it was hairy,
Very weel danced, Janet, quoth Duncan Macleerie.
( 75 )
DUNCAN DAVISON.
An old song. Burns's purified version is well known.
There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg,
And she gaed o'er the muir to spin,
She fee'd a lad to lift her leg,
They ca'ed him Duncan Davidson.
Fal lal, &c.
Meg had a muff, and it was rough,
'Twas black without and red within,
And Duncan, 'cause he'd got a cauld,
He slipt his Highland p—t—e in.
Fal lal, &c.
Meg had a muff, and it was rough,
And Duncan stuck twa nievefu' in.
Meg clapped her heels about his waist,
"I thank ye, Duncan, yerk it in."
Fal lal, &c.
Duncan made her hurdies dreep,
Brise 'yont, my lad, then Meg did say;
O gang he east, or gang he west,
My c--t will not be dry the day.
Fal lal, &c.
( 76 )
O SAW YE MY MAGGY?
TUNE—"Saw ye my Maggy."
An old song.
O saw ye my Maggy,
O saw ye my Maggy,
O saw ye my Maggy,
Coming o'er the lea?
What mark has your Maggy,
What mark has your Maggy,
What mark has your Maggy,
That ane may ken her by?
My Maggy has a mark,
You'll find it in the dark,
It's in below her sark,
A little aboon her knee.
What wealth has your Maggy,
What wealth has your Maggy,
What wealth has your Maggy,
In tocher, gowd, or fee?
My Maggy has a treasure,
A hidden mine o' pleasure,
I'll dig it at my leisure,
It's a' alane for me.
How meet ye your Maggy,
How meet ye your Maggy,
How meet ye your Maggy,
When nane's to hear or see?
E'en that tell our wishes,
Eager glowing kisses,
Then, diviner blisses,
In holy ecstacy.
( 77 )
How lo'e ye your Maggy,
How lo'e ye your Maggy,
How lo'e ye your Maggy,
And lo'e nane but she?
Heavenly joys before me,
Rapture trembling o'er me,
Maggy, I adore thee,
On my bended knee.
____________________
.
THEY TOOK ME TO THE HOLY BAND.
TUNE—"Clout the Cauldron."
An old fragment.
They took me to the Holy Band,
For playing wi' my wife, sir,
And lang and sair they lectured me,
For leading sic a life, sir.
I answered in not many words,
"What deil needs a' this clatter?
As long as she could keep the grig,
I aye was f------g at her."
( 78 )
THE PLOUGHMAN.
An old song. A purified version will be found in Herd (Vol.
II., p. 144). Scott Douglas prints another version in his Kilmarnock
edition (Vol. I., p. 222). The parable of the "three owsen,"
begun in the fourth stanza, is found in the "Auld White Nag,"
a licentious ditty current in Ayrshire to this day, the "owsen"
being changed into "pownies." It also is evidently old.
"Then he drew out his horses which were in number three,
Three likelier pownies for to draw, their like ye ne'er did see,
There was twa dun pownies on ahin', auld Whitey on afore,
The muzzle-pin for a' the yirth was in the highest bore."
"Before he gat the hause-rig turned his horse began to sweat,
And to maintain an open fur, he spurred wi' baith his feet," &c.
The ploughman he's a bonny lad,
His mind is ever true, jo,
His garters knit below his knee,
His bonnet it is blue, jo.
Then up wi't a', my ploughman lad,
And hey my merry ploughman,
Of a' the trades that I do ken,
Commend me to the ploughman.
As walking forth upon a day,
I met a jolly ploughman.
I told him I had lands to plough,
If he wad prove a true man.
He says, my dear, take ye nae fear,
I'll fit ye to a hair, jo,
I'll cleave it up, and hit it down,
And water-furrow't fair, jo.
I hae three owsen in my plough,
Three better ne'er plough'd ground, jo;
The foremost ox is lang and sma',
And two are plump and round, jo.
( 79 )
Then he wi' speed did yoke his plough,
Which by a gaud was driven, jo.
And when he was between the stilts,
He thought he was in heaven, jo.
But the foremost ox fell in the fur,
The tither twa did flounder, jo,
The ploughman lad he breathless grew,
In troth it was nae wonder, jo.
But sic a risk below a hill,
The plough she took a stane, jo,
Which gart the fire flee frae the stock,
The ploughman gaed a grane, jo.
I hae plough'd east, I hae plough'd west.
In weather foul and fair, jo,
But the sairest ploughing e'er I plough'd,
Was ploughing amang hair, jo.
Sing up w'it a', and in wi't a',
And hey my merry ploughman,
O' a' the trades and crafts I ken,
Commend me to the ploughman.
( 80 )
HOW CAN I KEEP MY MAIDENHEAD.
TUNE—"The Birks o' Abergeldie."
An old song.
How can I keep my maidenhead,
My maidenhead, my maidenhead;
How can I keep my maidenhead,
Among sae mony men, O.
The captain bad a guinea for't,
A guinea for't, a guinea for't;
The captain bad a guinea for't,
The colonel he bad ten, O.
But I'll do as my minnie did,
My minnie did, my minnie did;
But I'll do as my minnie did,
For siller I'll hae nane, O.
I'll gie it to a bonie lad,
A bonie lad, a bonie lad;
I'll gie it to a bonie lad,
For just as gude again, O.
An auld moulie maidenhead,
A maidenhead, a maidenhead,
An auld moulie maidenhead,
The weary wark I ken, O.
The stretchin' o't, the strivin' o't,
The borin' o't, the rivin' o't,
And ay the double drivin' o't,
The farther ye gang ben, O.
( 81 )
DAINTY DAVY.
This appears in Herd's collection (1776). It refers to an
incident of the Covenanting times. Mr. David Williamson, a
minister of the Covenant, being pursued by the dragoons, took
refuge in Lady Cherrytree's house, who, the better to conceal him,
put him to bed beside her daughter, whom he got with child,
to the great scandal of the Puritans of that period. In a letter
to Thomson, Burns refers to its "wit and humour entitling it to a
place in any collection."
O leeze me on his curly pow,
Bonie Davie, dainty Davic;
Leeze me on his curly pow,
He was my dainty Davie.
Being pursued by the dragoons,
Within my bed he was laid down,
And weel I wat he was worth his room,
My ain dear dainty Davie.
Leeze me, &c.
My minnie laid him at my back,
I trow he lay na lang at that,
But turn'd, and in a verra crack
Produc'd a dainty Davie.
Leeze me, &c.
Then in the field among the pease,
Behin' the house o' Cherrytrees,
Again he wan atweesh my thies,
And creesh'd them weel wi' gravy.
Leeze me, &c.
But had I goud, or had I land,
I should be a' at his command;
I'll ne'er forget what he pat i' my hand
It was sic a dainty Davie.
Leeze me, &c.
( 82 )
THE MOUDIWARK.
TUNE—"O for ane and twenty Tarn."
An old song.
The moudiwark has done me ill,
And below my apron has biggit a hill,
I maun consult some learned dark,
About this wanton moudiwark.
And O the wanton moudiwark,
The weary wanton moudiwark,
I maun consult my learned clark,
About this wanton moudiwark.
O first it gat between my taes,
Out o'er my garter neist it gaes,
At length it crap below my sark,
The weary wanton moudiwark.
And O the, &c.
This moudiwark, tho' it be blin',
If ance the nose o't you let in,
Then to the hilts, within a crack,
The weary wanton moudiwark.
And O the, &c.
When Marjorie was made a bride,
And Willie lay down by her side,
Syne nought was heard when it was dark,
But kicking at the moudiwark.
And O the, &c.
( 83 )
ANDREW AND HIS CUTTY GUN.
An old song which Burns describes as "the work of a master."
Burns's purified version is well known. An amended version will
be found in Herd's collection (1776).
Blythe, blythe, blythe was she,
Blythe was she but and ben,
And weel she loved it in her neeve,
But better when it slippit in.
Blythe, blythe, &c.
When a' the lave gaed to their bed,
And I sat up to clean the shoon,
O wha think ye came jumpin' ben,
But Andrew and his cutty gun.
Blythe, blythe, &c.
Or e'er I wist he laid me back,
And up my gamon to my chin,
And ne'er a word to me he spak ,
But liltit out his cutty gun.
Blythe, blythe, &c.
The bawsent bitch she left her whelps,
And hunted round us at the fun,
As Andrew dougled wi' his doup,
And fired at me his cutty gun.
Blythe, blythe, &c.
O some delight in cutty-stoup,
And some delight in cutty-mum,
But my delight's an arselins coup,
Wi' Andrew and his cutty gun.
Blythe, blythe, &c,
( 84 )
THE MILL, MILL, O.
"The original," says Burns in the Glenriddel MS., "or at least
a song evidently prior to Ramsay's, is still extant. It runs thus,
" 'As I came down yon water side,' &c."
From this Burns evolved the "Soldier's Return."
As I came down yon water side,
And by yon shillin hill, O;
There I spied a bonny lass,
A lass that I lo'ed right weel, O.
The mill, mill, O, and the kill, kill, O,
An' the coggin o' Peggy's wheel, O,
The sack and the seive, an' a' she did leave,
An' danced the miller's reel, O.
I spier'd at her, gin she could play,
But the lassie had nae skill, O;
An' yet she was nae a' to blame,
She pat it in my will, O.
The mill, mill, O, &c.
Then she fell o'er, an' sae did I,
An' danced the miller's reel, O,
Whene'er that bonny lassie comes again,
She shall hae her maut ground weel, O.
The mill, mill, O, &c.
( 85 )
O GAT YE ME WI' NAETHING.
An old song.
"Gat ye me, O gat ye me,
And gat ye me wi' naething.
A rock, a reel, a spinning wheel,
A gude black c--t was ae thing.
"A tocher fine, o'er muckle far,
When sic a scallion gat it."
"Indeed o'er muckle far, gudewife,
For that was aye the faut o't.
"But haud your tongue now, Luckie Laing,
0 haud your tongue and jander.
I held the gate till you I met,
Syne I began to wander.
"I tint my whistle and my sang,
I tint my peace and pleasure,
But your green grave now, Luckie Laing,
Wad airt me to my treasure."
( 86 )
CAN YE LABOUR LEA, YOUNG MAN ?
TUNE—"Sir Arch. Grant's Strathspey."
An old song, of which there are many versions. The title
appears to have been a favourite with the old rhymers.
O can ye labour lea, young man?
O can ye labour lea?
Gae back the road ye came again,
Ye ne'er shall scorn me.
I fee'd a man at Martinmas,
Wi' arle pennies three,
But a' the faut I had to him,
He couldna labour lea.
O can ye, &c.
A stibble rig is easy ploughed,
And fallow land is free,
But what a silly coof is he,
That couldna labour lea.
O can ye, &c.
The bonny bush and benty knowe,
The ploughman points his sock in,
He sheds the roughness, lays it by,
And bauldly ploughs his yoking.
O can ye, &c.
( 87 )
OUR JOCK'S BRACK YESTREEN.
TUNE—"Gramachree."
An old song.
Twa neignbor wives sat in the sun,
A twining at their rocks,
And they an argument began,
And a' the plea was cocks.
'Twas whether they were sinews strong,
Or whether they were bane,
And how they rowed about your thumb,
And how they stood their lane.
First Rachel gied her rock a tug,
And syne she claw'd her tail,
"When our Tam draws on his breeks,
It waggles like a flail."
Says Bess, "They're bane, I will maintain,
And proof in point I'll gie,
For our Jock's cock it brak yestreen,
And I found it on my thigh."
( 88 )
SHE ROSE AND LOOT ME IN.
The old version is by Semple of Beltrees, and appears in
Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany," the "Orpheus Caledonius," and
"Herd's Collection." In the Glenriddel MS. Burns says, "The old
set of this song, which is still to be found in printed collections,
is much prettier than this; but somebody (I believe it was Ramsay)
took it into his head to clear it of some seeming indelicacies, and
made it at once more chaste and more dull." On 7th April, 1793,
he writes to Thomson—"I shall be extremely sorry if you get any
other song to the air 'She rose and loot me in,' except the song
of that title. It would be cruel to spoil the allusion in poor, unfor-
tunate M'Donald's pretty ode." The amended version first appeared
in a collection called "The Blackbird," in 1764.
The night her silent sable wore,
An' gloomin' was the skies;
O' glittrin' stars appeared no more
Than those in Nelly's eyes:
When at her father's gate I knocked,
Where I had often been;
Shrouded only in her smock,
She rose and loot me in.
Fast lock'd within my fond embrace,
She tremblin' stood asham'd;
Her glowin' lips an' heaving breasts,
At every touch enflam'd ;
My eager passion I obeyed,
Resolved the fort to win;
An' she, at last, gave her consent
To yield an' let me in.
O then! what bliss beyond compare,
I knew no greater joy;
Enroll'd in heavenly happiness,
So bless't a man was I;
An' she, all ravished with delight,
Bad me aft come again,
An' kindly vow'd, that ev'ry night
She'd rise and let me in.
( 89 )
But ah! at last she prov'd wi' bairn,
An' sat baith sad and dull,
An' I wha was as much concerned
Looked e'en just like a fool;
Her lovely eyes wi' tears ran o'er,
Repentin' her rash sin;
An' ay she cursed the fatal hour
That e'er she loot me in.
But who could from such beauty go,
Or yet from Nelly part;
I lov'd her dear, an' cou'dna leave
The charmer of my heart,
We wedded and conceal'd our crime,
Then all was weel again,
An' she doth bless the happy night
She rose an' loot me in.
_____________________
GIE THE LASS HER FAIRING.
TUNE—"Cauld Kail in Aberdeen."
An old fragment.
O gie the lass her fairing, lad,
O gie the lass her fairing;
And something else she'll gie to you,
That's wallow worth the wearing.
Syne coup her o'er amang the creels,
When ye hae ta'en your brandy,
The mair you bang, the less she squeals,
So hey for houghmagandie.
Then gie the lass her fairing, lad,
O gie the lass her fairing,
And she'll gie you a hairy thing,
And of it be not sparing.
Lay her o'er among the creels,
And bar the door wi' baith your heels,
The mair she gets, the less she squeals,
So hey for houghmagandie.
( 90 )
POOR BODIES NO NAETHING BUT MOW.
TUNE—"The Campbells are Coming."
This is by Burns. Writing to Cleghorn (December 12, 1792),
he says—"By our good friend Crossbie, I send you a song just
finished this moment. May the devil follow with a blessing.
Amen!" To Thomson, in July, 1794, he writes—"The needy man,
who has known better times, can only console himself with a song,
thus—
'While princes and prelates,' &c."
When he was called in question about his political opinions, he
wrote the following to Graham of Fintry (January 5, 1793) —
"A tippling ballad which I made on Prince of Brunswick's breaking
up his camp, and sung one convivial evening, I shall likewise send
you, sealed up, as it's not for everybody's reading. This last is
not worth your perusal; but lest Mrs. Fame should, as she has
already done, use and even abuse her old privilege of lying, you
shall be the master of everything, le pour et le contre, of my
political writings and conduct."
When princes and prelates,
And hot-headed zealots
A' Europe had set in a lowe, lowe, lowe,
The poor man lies down,
Nor envies a crown,
But contents himself wi' a mow, mow, mow.
And why shouldna poor bodies mow, mow, mow?
And why shouldna poor bodies mow?
The rich they hae siller, and houses, and land,
Poor bodies hae naething but mow.
When Brunswick's great Prince
Gaed a crushing to France,
Republican billies to cow, cow, cow,
Great Brunswick's strange Prince
Would have shown better sense,
At hame wi' his Princess to mow, mow, mow.
And why shouldna, &c.
( 91 )
The Emperor swore,
By sea and by shore,
At Paris to kick up a row, row, row,
But Paris aye ready,
Just laughed at the laddie,
And bid him gae hame, and gae mow, mow, mow.
And why shouldna, &c.
When the brave Duke of York
The Rhine first did pass,
Republican armies to cow, cow, cow,
They bid him gae hame
To his Prussian dame,
And gie her a kiss and a mow, mow, mow.
And why shouldna, &c.
Out over the Rhine
Proud Prussia did shine,
To spend his last blade he did vow, vow, vow,
But Frederick had better
Ne'er forded the water,
But spent as he ought at a mow, mow, mow.
And why shouldna, &c.
The black-headed eagle,
As keen as a beagle,
He hunted o'er height, and o'er howe, howe, howe.
In the braes of Gemappe,
He fell into a trap,
E'en let him get out as he dow, dow, dow.
And why shouldna, &c.
When Kate laid her claws
On poor Stanislaus,
And his p—t—e was bent like a bow, bow, bow,
May the deil in her a------e
Ram a huge p------k of brass,
And send her to hell wi' a mow, mow, mow.
And why shouldna, &c.
( 92 )
Then fill up your glasses,
Ye sons of Parnassus,
This toast I'm sure you'll allow, allow,
Here's to Geordie our King,
And Charlotte his Queen,
And lang may they live for to mow, mow, mow.
And why shouldna, &c.
An alternative version of the last stanza.
But truce with commotions, and new fangled notions,
A bumper I trust you'll allow, allow;
Here's George our good King, and long may he ring,
And Charlotte and he tak' a mow, mow, mow.
And why shouldna, &c.
( 93 )
THE COOPER O' CUDDY.
TUNE—"Bob at the Bowster."
A MS. of this old song is in the British Museum, in the holograph
of Burns; but it is not identical with the version here given.
Probably he took it down as a later or preferable version.
The Cooper o' Cuddy cam' here awa',
He ca'd the girrs out o'er us a',*
An' our gudewife has gotten a fa'
That angered the silly gudeman, O.
We'll hide the cooper behind the door,
Behind the door, behind the door,
We'll hide the cooper behind the door,
And cover him with a mawn, O.
He sought them out, he sought them in,
Wi' deil hae her, and deil hae him,
But the body he was sae doited an' blin',
He wistna where he was gaun, O.
We'll hide the cooper, &c.
They cooper'd at e'en—they cooper'd at morn,
Till our gudeman has gotten the scorn,
On ilka brow he's planted a horn,
And swears that there they shall stand, O.
We'll hide the cooper, &c.
* Scots game played with hoops.
( 94 )
THERE CAM' A CADGER.
TUNE—"Clout the Cauldron."
An old fragment.
There cam' a cadger out o' Fife,
I wat na how they ca'd him;
He play'd a trick to our gudewife,
When fient a body bad him.
Fal lal, &c.
He took a lang thing stout and strang,
An' strack it at her gyvel ;
An' aye she swore she fand the thing
Gae borin' by her nyvel.
Fal lal, &c.
____________________
KEN YE NA OUR LASS BESS.
TUNE—"Auld Sir Symon."
An old song.
O, ken ye na our lass, Bess?
An' ken ye na our lass, Bess?
Between her lily white thies
She's biggit a magpie's nest.
An' ken ye na our lad, Tam?
An' ken ye na our lad, Tam?
He's on a three-fitted stool,
An' up to the nest he clamb.
An' what did he there, think ye?
An' what did he there, think ye?
He brak a' the eggs o' the nest,
An' the white's ran down her thie.
( 95 )
WHA THE DEIL CAN HINDER THE WIND TAE
BLAW?
TUNE—"Wat ye wha I met yestreen."
An old song. It looks as if it were filched from "The Grey
Goose and the Gled," the last stanza especially.
It fell about the blythe New Year,
When days are short and nights are lang,
Ae bonie night, the starns were clear,
An' frost beneath my fit-stead rang;
I heard a carlin cry "relief!"
Atweesh her trams a birkie lay;
But he wan a quarter in her beef,
For a' the jirts the carlin gae.
She heaved tae, and he strak frae,
As he wad nail'd the carlin thro';
An ilka f—t the carlin gae,
It wad hae fill'd a pockie fou;
Temper your tail, the young man cried,
Temper your tail by Venus' law!
Double your dunts, the dame replied,
Wha the deil can hinder the wind tae blaw?
( 96 )
WE'RE A' GAUN SOUTHIE O.
TUNE—"The Merry lads of Ayr."
An old song.
Callum cam to Campbell's court,
An' saw ye e'er the make o't;
Pay'd twenty shillings for a thing,
An' never got a straik o't.
We're a' gaun southie O,
We're a' gaun there;
An' we're a' gaun to Mauchline fair,
To sell our pickle hair.
Pay'd twenty shillings for a quine,
Her name was Kirsty Lauchlan;
But Callum took her by the c--t,
Before the laird o' Mauchline.
We're a', &c.
Callum cam to Kirsty's door,
Says, Kirsty are ye sleepin'?
No sae soun' as ye wad trow,
Ye'se get the thing ye're seekin'.
We're a', &c.
Callum had a peck o' meal,
Says Kirsty, will ye draik it?
She whippit aff her wee white coat,
An' birket at it nakit.
We're a', &c.
Bonie lassie, braw lassie,
Will ye hae a soger?
Then she took up her duddie sark,
An' he shot in his Roger.
We're a', &c.
Kind kimmer Kirsty,
I lo'e wi' a' my heart, O,
An' when there's ony p—t—s gaun,
She'll ay get a part, O.
We're a', &c.
( 97 )
JOCKEY WAS A BONNY LAD.
TUNE—"John Roy Stewart's Strathspey."
An old song which appears in the Appendix to Herd's collection.
My Jockey is a bonny lad,
A dainty lad, a merry lad,
A neat, sweet, pretty little lad,
An' just the lad for me.
For when we o'er the meadows stray,
He's ay sae lively, ay sae gae,
An' aft right canty does he say,
There's nane he lo'es like me,
An' he's ay huggin', ay dawtin',
Ay clappin', ay pressin',
Ay squeezin', ay kissin',
An' winna let me be.
I met my lad the ither day,
Friskin' thro' a field o' hay;
Says he, dear Jenny, will ye stay,
An' crack a while wi' me.
No, Jockey lad, I darena stay,
My mither she'd miss me away;
Syne she'll flyte an' scauld a' day,
An' play the deil wi' me.
But Jockey still continued
Ay huggin', &c.
Hoot! Jockey, see my hair is down,
An' look ye've torn a' my gown,
An' how will I gae thro' the town,
Dear laddie tell to me.
He never minded what I said,
But wi' my neck an' bosom play'd;
Tho' I entreated, begg'd, an' pray'd
Him no to touzle me.
But Jockey still continued
Huggin', dawtin', clappin', squeezin',
An' aye kissin', kissin', kissin',
Till down cam we.
( 98 )
As breathless an' fatigued I lay,
In his arms among the hay,
My blood fast thro' my veins did play
As he lay huggin' me;
I thought my breath would never last,
For Jockey danc'd sae devilish fast;
But what cam o'er, I trow, at last,
There's deil ane kens but me.
But soon he wearied o' his dance,
O' a' his jumpin' an' his prance,
An' confess'd without romance,
He was fain to let me be.
___________________
MY AIN KIND DEARY.
An old song on which Burns modelled his beautiful lyric with
the same title.
I'll lay thee o'er the lee-rig,
Lovely Mary, dearie, O;
I'll lay thee o'er the lee-rig,
My lovely Mary, dearie, O.
Altho' the night were ne'er so wet,
An' I were ne'er so weary O;
I'd lay thee o'er the lee-rig
My lovely Mary, dearie, O.
Altho' the night, &c.
Look down ye gods from yonder sky,
An' see how blest a man am I;
No envy my fond heart alarms,
Encircled in my Mary's arms.
Lyin' across the lee-rig,
Wi' lovely Mary, dearie, O;
Lyin' across the lee-rig
Wi' my ain kind deary, O.
Altho' the night, &c.
( 99 )
HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER.
TUNE—"The job o' journey work."
An early production of Burns, on an old model, written, it is
supposed, when Jean Armour was "under a cloud." The first
verse appears in most editions of Burns's works.
Altho' my back be at the wa',
An' tho' he be the fautor;
Altho' my back be at the wa',
I'll drink his health in water.
O wae gae by his wanton sides,
Sae brawly's he could flatter.
Though for his sake I'm slighted sair,
An' dree the kintra clatter;*
But let them say whate'er they like,
Yet, here's his health in water.
He followed me baith out and in,
Thro' a' the nooks o' Killie;
He followed me baith out and in,
Wi' a stiff stanin' pillie.
But when he gat atween my legs,
We made an unco splutter;
An' haith,(1) I trow, I soupled it,
Tho' bauldly he did blatter;
But now my back is at the wa',
Yet here's his health in water.
* "Endure the country gossip."
(1) Minced oath.
( 100 )
ACT SEDERUNT OF THE COURT OF SESSION.
TUNE—"O'er the Muir amang the Heather."
Burns wrote to Robert Cleghorn, under date October 25, 1793:—
"I have just bought a quire of post, and I am determined, my
dear Cleghorn, to give you the maidenhead of it. Indeed, that
is all my reason for, and all that I can propose to give you by,
the present scrawl. From my late hours last night, and the dripping
fogs and damn'd east wind of this stupid day, I have left me as
little soul as an oyster.—'Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot
live long.'—'Why, there is it! Come, sing me a bawdy song
to make me merry!!'
"ACT SEDERUNT O' THE SESSION.
"TUNE—'O'er the muir amang the heather.'
"Well, the Law is good for something, since we can make a bawdy
song out of it. (N. B.—I never made anything of it any other
way.) There is, there must be some truth in original sin. My
violent propensity to bawdry convinces me of it. Lack a day!
if that species of composition be the special sin, never-to-be-forgiven
in this world nor in that which is to come, I am the
most offending soul alive."
In Embro' town they've made a law,
In Embro' at the Court o' Session,
That standin' p------ks are fautor's a',
And guilty o' a high transgression.
Decreet o' the Court o' Session,
Act Sederunt o' the Session,
That standin' p------ks are fautors a',
And guilty o' a high transgression.
And they've provided dungeons deep,
Ilk lass has ane in her possession,
Until the fautors wail and weep,
There they shall lie for their transgression.
Decreet o' the Court o' Session,
Act Sederunt o' the Session.
The rogues in pouring tears shall weep,
By Act Sederunt o' the Session.
( 101 )
BLYTH WILL AND BESSIE'S WEDDING.
TUNE—"Roy's Wife."
An old song. The stanzas in brackets seem to be an interpolation
from another ditty much resembling "Comin' o'er the hills
o' Couper."
There was a wedding o'er in Fife,
An' mony a ane frae Lothian at it;
Jean Vernon there maist lost her life,
For love o' Jamie Howden at it.
Blyth Will and Bessie's weddin',
Blyth Will and Bessie's weddin',
Had I been Will, Bess had been mine,
An' Bess an' I had made the weddin'.
Right sair she grat, and wet her cheeks,
An' naithing pleased that we could gie her;
She tint her heart in Jamie's breeks,
It came nae back to Lothian wi' her.
Blyth, &c.
[Kate Mackie cam frae Parloncraigs,
The road was foul 'twixt that an' Couper;
She shaw'd a pair o' handsome legs,
When Highland Donald he o'ertook her.
Comin' o'er the moor o' Couper,
Coming o'er the moor o' Couper,
Donald fell in love wi' her,
An' row'd his Highland plaid about her.
They took them to the Logan steps,
An' set them down to rest thegither,
Donald laid her on her back,
An' fir'd a Highland pistol at her.
Comin', &c.
( 102 )
Lochleven Castle heard the rair,
An' Faulkland house the echo sounded;
Highland Donald gae a stare,
The lassie sigh'd, but was nae wounded.]
Comin', &c.
Tamie Tomson too was there,
Maggie Birnie was his dearie,
He pat it in amang the hair,
An' puddled there till he was weary.
Blyth, &c.
When e'enin' cam the town was thrang,
An' beds were no to get for siller;
When e'er they fand a want o' room,
They lay in pairs like bread and butter.
Blyth, &c.
Twa and twa they made the bed,
An' twa an' twa they lay thegither ;
When they had na room enough,
Ilk ane lap on aboon the tither.*
Blyth, &c.
* "Each one leapt on above the other."
( 103 )
AS I LOOKED O'ER YON CASTLE WA'.
TUNE—"Gumnock Psalms"
An old song. In a letter to Thomson, dated September, 1794,
Burns says:—"Do you know a droll Scots song, more famous for
its humour than delicacy, called 'The Grey Goose and the Gled.'
Mr. Clark took down the notes (such as they are) at my request,
which I shall give with some decenter verses to Johnson. Mr.
Clark says that the tune is positively an old chant of the Romish
Church, which corroborates the old tradition that at the Reformation
the Reformers burlesqued much of the old church music with
setting them to bawdy verses. As a further proof, the common
name for this song is 'Cummock Psalms.' As there can be no harm
in transcribing a stanza of a psalm, I shall give you two or three;
possibly the song is new to you:—
"CUMNOCK PSALMS.
"'As I looked o'er yon castle wa',
I spied a grey goose and a gled,' &c.
So much for the psalmody of Cumnock."
As I looked o'er yon castle wa',
I spied a grey goose and a gled;
They had a feight between them twa,
An' O, as their twa hurdies gaed.
Wi' a hey ding it in, an' a how ding it in,
An' a hey ding it in, it's lang to-day.
Fal lary tele, tale, lary tale,
Fal lary tal, lal, lary tay.
She heav'd up and he strack down,
Between them twa they made a m—w;
And ilka fart that the carlin gae,
It's four o' them wad filled a bowe.
With a hey, &c.
Temper your tail the carle cried,
Temper your tale by Venus' law;
Gird hame your gear, gudeman, she cried,
Wha the deil can hinder the wind tae blaw.
With a hey, &c.
( 104 )
For were ye on my saddle set,
An' were ye weel girt in my gear,
Gin the wind o' my a—e blaw ye out o' my c--t,
Ye'll never be reckoned a man o' weir.
With a hey, &c.
He placed his Jacob whare she did piss,
An' his b—ks whare the wind did blaw,
And he grippet her fast by the gushet o' her a—e,
An' he gae her c--t the common law.
With a hey, &c.
_____________________
LOGAN WATER.
An old song which appears in Herd's Collection. Referring
to it, Burns writes to Thomson (April 7, 1793)—"I remember
two ending lines of a verse in some of the old songs of 'Logan
Water' (for I know a good many different ones) which I think
pretty—
"'Now my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan Braes.'"
The Logan burn, the Logan braes,
I helped a bonie lassie on wi' her claes;
First wi' her stockings an' syne wi' her shoon,
But she gied me the glaiks when a' was done.
But an I had ken'd what I ken now,
I wad a' bang'd her belly fu';
Her belly fu' and her apron up,
An' shew'd her the road to the Logan Kirk.
( 105 )
THE COOPER O' DUNDEE.
TUNE—"Bonnie Dundee,"
An old song.
Ye Coopers and Hoopers attend to my ditty,
I'll sing of a cooper who dwelt in Dundee,
This young man he was baith am'rous and witty,
He pleased the fair maids wi' the blink of his e'e.
He wasna a cooper, a common tub hooper,
The maist of his trade lay in pleasing the fair,
He hoop'd them, he coop'd them, he bor'd them, he plugg'd
them,
And a' sent for Sandy when oot o' repair.
For a twelvemonth or so this youth was respected,
And he was as busy as well he could be,
But business increas'd sae, that some were neglected,
Which ruined his trade in the town o' Dundee.
A bailie's fair daughter had wanted a coopin',
And Sandy was sent for, as ofttimes was he,
He yerk't her sae hard, that she sprung an end hoopin',
Which banish'd poor Sandy from bonny Dundee.
_______________________
WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T.
A fragment of the old song on which Burns modelled his
amended version.
My mither sent me to the well,
She had better gane hersel,
I got the thing I daur nae tell,
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
My mither sent me to the sea,
For to gather mussles three;
A sailor had fell in wi' me,
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
( 106 )
THE RANTING DOG THE DADDY O'T.
TUNE—"East Neuk o Fife"
Concerning this composition, Burns himself says:—"I composed
this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a young girl, a very
particular acquaintance of mine, who was at that time under a
cloud." This was doubtless Betty Paton, mother of his "dear
bought Bess," at whose birth he composed "The Poet's Welcome."
Both pieces are printed in most editions of Burns's works.
O wha my baby clouts will buy?
O wha will tent me when I cry?
O what will kiss me where I lie?
But the ranting dog the daddy o't.
O wha will own he did the faut ?
O wha will buy the groaning maut?
O wha will tell me what to ca't?
But the ranting dog the daddy o't.
When I mount the creepie chair,
Wha will sit beside me there?
Gie me Rab, I'll ask nae mair,
The ranting dog the daddy o't?
Wha will crack to me my lane?
Wha will make me fidging fain ?
Wha will kiss me o'er again?
But the ranting dog the daddy o't.
( 107 )
JENNY MACRAW.
TUNE—"The bonny moorhen."
An old song.
Jenny Macraw was a bird o' the game,
An' mony a shot had been lows'd at her wame;
Be't a lang bearing arrow, or the sharp-rattlin' hail,
Still, whirr! she flew off wi' the shot in her tail.
Jenny Macraw to the mountains she's gane,
Their leagues and their covenants a' she has ta'en;
"My head now, and heart now," quo she, "are at rest,
An' for my poor c--t, let the deil do his best."
Jenny Macraw on a midsummer morn,
She cut off her c--t and she hung't on a thorn;
There she loot it hing for a year and a day,
But oh! how looked her a—e when her c--t was away?
___________________________
NAE HAIR ON'T.
TUNE—"Gillicrankie"
An old fragment.
Yestreen I wed a lady fair,
An ye wad believe me,
On her c--t there grows nae hair,
That's the thing that grieves me.
It vex'd me sair, it plagu'd me sair,
It put me in a passion,
To think that I had wed a wife,
Whose c-—t was out o' fashion.
( 108 )
THE SODGER LADDIE.
TUNE—"Sodger Laddie."
This is the "tozie drab's" song in the "Jolly Beggars," found
in every modern edition of the Poet's works.
I once was a maid, though I cannot tell when,
And still my delight is in proper young men;
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.
Sing, lal de lal, &c.
The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,
Transported I was with my sodger laddie.
Sing, lal de lal, &c.
But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;
He ventured the soul and I risked the body—
'Twas then I proved false to my sodger laddie.
Sing, lal de lal, &c.
Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,
The regiment at large for a husband I got;
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,
I asked no more but a sodger laddie.
Sing, lal de lal, &c.
But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair,
Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair;
His rags regimental they fluttered so gaudy,
My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie.
Sing, lal de lal, &c.
And now I have lived—I know not how long,
And still I can join in a cup and a song;
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie!
Sing, lal de lal, &c.
( 109 )
O GIN I HAD HER.
TUNE—'Saw ye na my Peggy."
An old fragment.
O gin I had her,
O gin I had her,
O gin I had her,
Black altho' she be;
I wad lay her bale,
I'd gar her spew her kail;
She ne'er sou'd keep a meal,
Till she dandl'd it on her knee.
She says I am light
To manage matters right,
That I've nae might or weight
To fill a lassie's pock;
But wad she tak' a yokin',
I'd soon set her a bockin',
I'd set a cradle rockin',
Wi' a sample o' the stock.
( 110 )
THE LASSIE GATH'RING NITS.
TUNE—"O the broom."
An old song.
There was a lass, and a bonie lass,
A gath'ring nits did gang;
She pu'd them heigh, she pu'd them laigh,
She pu'd them whare they hang.
Till tir'd at length, she laid her down,
An' sleept the wood amang;
When by there cam three lusty lads,
Three lusty lads an' strang.
The first did kiss her rosy lips,
He thought it was nae wrang;
The second lous'd her bodice fair,
Fac'd up wi' London whang.
An' what the third did to the lass,
Is no' put in this sang;
But the lassie wauken'd in a fright,
An' says, I hae sleepit lang.
___________________________
THE LINKING LADDIE.
TUNE—"Push about the jorum."
An old fragment.
Waes me that e'er I made your bed!
Waes me that e'er I saw ye!
For now I've lost my maidenhead,
An' I ken na how they ca' ye.
My name's weel kend in my ain countrie,
They ca' me the linkin' laddie;
An' ye had na been as willing as I,
Shame fa' them wad e'er hae bade ye.
( 111 )
TAIL TODLE.
TUNE—"Charlie's muster roll."
An old song.
Tail todle, tail todle,
Tammie gart my tail todle
But an' ben wi' diddle doddle,
Tammie gart my tail todle.
Our gudewife held o'er to Fife,
For to buy a coal riddle;
Lang or she came back again,
Tammie gart my tail todle.
Tail todle, &c.
When I'm dead I'm out o' date;
When I'm sick I'm fu' o' trouble;
When I'm weel I stap about,
And Tammie gars my tail todle.
Tail todle, &c.
Jenny Jack she gae a plack,
Helen Wallace gae a boddle;
Quo' the bride, it's o'er little
For to mend a broken doddle.
Tail todle, &c.
( 112 )
DUNCAN GRAY.
An old song. Burns's purified version is well known. Another
version, beginning "Weary fa' ye, Duncan Gray," more on the
lines of the original, is ascribed erroneously by some editors to Burns.
It will be found in Scott Douglas's Kilmarnock Edition (Vol. I.,
p. 221).
Can ye play me Duncan Gray,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
O'er the hills an' far awa',
Ha, ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
Duncan came our Meg to woo,
Meg was nice and wadna do,
But like an ether puff'd and blew
At offer o' the girdin' o't.
Duncan, he cam' here again,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
A' was out an' Meg her lane,
Ha, ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
He kiss'd her butt, he kiss'd her ben,
He bang'd a thing against her wame;
But, troth, I now forget its name,
But, I trow, she gat the girdin' o't.
She took him to the cellar then,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't,
To see gif he could do't again,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
He kiss'd her ance, he kiss'd her twice,
An' maybe Duncan kiss'd her thrice,
Till deil a mair the thing wad rise,
To gie her the lang girdin' o't.
But Duncan took her to his wife,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
To be the comfort o' his life,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
An' now she scauls baith night an' day,
Except when Duncan's at the play;
An' that's as seldom as he may,
He's weary o' the girdin' o't.
( 113 )
JOHNIE SCOTT.
TUNE—"O the broom."
An old fragment.
Where will we get a coat to Johnie Scott,
Amang us maidens a' ?
Whare will we get a coat to Johnie Scott,
To mak' the laddie braw;
There's your c--t hair, and there's my c--t hair,
An' we'll twine it wondrous sma';
An' if waft be scarce, we'll cow our a—e,
To mak' him kilt an' a'.
( 114 )
I AM A BARD.
TUNE—"For a that, and a' that."
This is the song of "the wight o' Homer's craft" in the "Jolly
Beggars."
I am a hard of no regard
Wi' gentle folks, and a' that;
But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke,
Frae town to town I draw that.
Fo a' that, and a' that,
And twice as muckle's a' that;
I've lost but ane, I've twa behin'—
I've wives eneugh for a' that.
I never drank the Muses' stank,
Castalia's burn, and a' that;
But there it streams, and richly reams,
My Helicon I ca' that.
For a' that, &c.
Great love I bear to a' the fair,
Their humble slave, and a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.
For a' that, &c.
In raptures sweet, this hour we meet,
Wi' mutual love, and a' that;
But for how lang the flie may stang,
Let inclination law that.
For a' that, &c.
Their tricks and craft have put me daft,
They've ta'en me in, and a' that;
But clear your decks, and here's—"The Sex!"
I like the jads for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
And twice as muckle's a' that;
My dearest bluid to do them gude,
They're welcome till't for a' that.
( 115 )
FOR A' THAT AN' A' THAT.
This version did not appear in the original Crochallan edition.
It appeared in a very early edition of the spurious "Merry Muses,"
and we print it in italics because it is much in the vein of "The
Patriarch."
The boniest lass that ye meet neist,
Gie her a kiss an a that,
In spite o' ilka parish priest,
Repentin' stool, an a' that.
For a' that an a that,
Their mim-mou'd sangs an a that,
In time and place convenient,
They'll dot themselves for a' that.
Your patriarchs, in days o' yore,
Had their handmaids an' a' that;
O' bastard gets, some had a score,
An some had mair than a' that.
For a' that an a' that,
Your langsyne saunts, an a' that,
Were fonder o' a bonie lass,
Than you or I, for a' that.
King Davie, when he waxed auld,
An's bluid ran thin an a that,
An fand his c—s were growin' cauld ,
Could not refrain, for a that.
For a' that an a' that,
To keep him warm, an' a' that,
The daughters o' Jerusalem
Were waled for him, an' a that.
Wha wadna pity thae sweet dames
He fumbled at, an a that,
An raised their bluid up into flames,
He couldna drown, for a' that.
For a' that an a' that,
He wanted pith, an a' that;
For, as to what we shall not name,
What could he do, but claw that.
( 116 )
King Solomon, prince o' divines,
Wha proverbs made, an a that,
Baith mistresses an' concubines,
In hunders had, for a' that.
For a that an a' that,
Tho' a preacher wise, an' a' that,
The smuttiest sang that e'er was sung,
His "Sang o' Sangs" is a' that.
Then still I swear, a clever chiel
Shoud kiss a lass, an a' that,
Tho' priests consign him to the deil,
As reprobate, an' a' that.
For a' that, an a' that,
Their canting stuff, an a' that,
They ken nae mair wha's reprobate,
Than you or I, for a' that.
___________________________
THE PLENIPOTENTIARY.
TUNE—"The Terrible Law, or Shawnbuce."
Although the following does not appear in the original Dumfries
edition of the "Merry Muses" it was undoubtedly a part of Burns's
MSS. collection, as he mentions it in his letter to Wm. Stewart.
For this reason it is here printed. See note to "The Bower of Bliss";
page 62.
The Dey of Algiers, when afraid of his ears,
A messenger sent to our Court, sir,
As he knew in our State that the women had weight,
He chose one well hung for the sport, sir;
He searched the Divan, till he found out a man,
Whose b--l--ks were heavy and hairy,
And he lately came o'er, from the Barbary shore,
As the great Plenipotentiary.
When to England he came, with his p-----k in a flame,
He shewed it his hostess on landing,
Who spread its renown thro' all parts of the town,
As a pintle past all understanding;
So much there was said of its snout and its head,
That they called it the great Janissary,
Not a lady could sleep, till she got a sly peep,
At the great Plenipotentiary,
( 117 )
As he rode in the coach, how the whores did approach,
And stared, as if stretched on a tenter,
He drew every eye of the dames that pass by,
Like the sun to its wonderful centre;
As he passed thro' the town not a window was down,
And the maids hurried out to the area,
The children cried, "Look, there's the man with the cock,
That's the great Plenipotentiary."
When he came to the Court, oh, what giggle and sport,
Such squinting and squeezing to view him,
What envy and spleen, in the women were seen,
All happy and pleased to get near him;
They vowed from their hearts, if men of such parts,
Were found on the coast of Barbary,
'Tis a shame not to bring a whole guard for the King,
Like the great Plenipotentiary.
The dames of intrigue, formed their c--ts in a league,
To take him in turns like good folks, sir,
The young misses' plan was to catch as catch can,
And all were resolved on a stroke, sir;
The cards to invite flew by thousands each night,
With bribes to the old secretary,
And the famous Eclipse was not let for more leaps,
Than the great Plenipotentiary.
When his name was announced, how the women all bounced,
And their blood hurried up to their faces,
He made them all itch, from navel to breech,
And their bubbies burst out all their laces;
There was such damned work to be f------d by the Turk,
That nothing their passion could vary,
All the nations fell sick for the Barbary p------k,
Of the great Plenipotentiary.
A Duchess whose Duke made her ready to puke,
With fumbling and f------g all night, sir,
Being first for the prize, was so pleased with its size,
That she begged for to stroke its big snout, sir;
"My stars," cried her grace, "its head's like a mace,
( 118 )
'Tis as high as the Corsican fairy,
I'll make up, please the pigs, for dry bobs and frigs,
With his great Plenipotentiary."
And now to be bor'd by this Ottoman lord,
Came a virgin far gone the wane, sir,
She resolved for to try, tho' her c--t was so dry,
That she knew it must split like a cane, sir;
True it was as she spoke, it gave way at each stroke,
But oh, what a woeful quandary,
With one terrible thrust, her old piss-bladder bust,
On the great Plenipotentiary.
The next to be tried, was an Alderman's bride,
With a c---t that would swallow a turtle,
She had horned the dull brows of her worshipful spouse,
Till they sprouted like Venus' myrtle;
Thro' thick and thro' thin, bowel deep he dashed in,
Till her c--t frothed like cream in a dairy,
And expressed by loud farts she was strained in all parts,
By the great Plenipotentiary.
The next to be kissed on the Plenipo's list,
Was a delicate Maiden of Honour,
She screamed at the sight of his p--k, in a fright,
Tho' she'd had the whole palace upon her;
"O Lord," she said, "what a p--k for & maid,
Do, pray, come look at it, Cary!
But I will have one drive, if I'm ripped up alive,
By this great Plenipotentiary."
Two sisters next came, Peg and Molly by name,
Two ladies of very high breeding,
Resolved one should try, while the other stood by,
And watched the amusing proceeding;
Peg swore by the gods, that the Mussulman's cods,
Were as big as both buttocks of Mary,
Molly cried with a grunt, "He has ruined my c--t,
With the great Plenipotentiary."
The next for this plan, was an old harridan,
Who had swallowed huge p------ks from each nation,
( 119 )
With over much use, she had broken the sluice,
'Twixt her c---t and its lower relation;
But he stuck her so full, that she roared like a bull,
Crying out she was bursting and weary,
So tight was she stuck by this wonderful f—k,
Of the great Plenipotentiary.
The next for a shag, came the new Yankee flag,
Tho' lanky and scraggy in figure,
She was fond of the quid, for she had been well rid,
From Washington down to a nigger;
"Oh, my! such a size, I guess its first prize,
Its a wonder, quite next Ni-a-gary,
W-a-a-l, now I'm in luck, stranger, let's f—k,
Bully for the great Plenipotentiary."
All heads were bewitched, and longed to be stitched,
Even babies would languish and linger,
And the boarding school miss, as she sat down to piss,
Drew a Turk on the floor with her finger;
For fancied delight, they all clubbed for a shite,
To frig in the school necessary,
And the teachers from France f------d a-ala-distance,
With the great Plenipotentiary.
Each sluice-c—d bawd, who'd been s—d abroad,
Till her premises gaped like a grave, sir,
Found luck was so thick, she could feel the Turk's p--k
Tho' all others were lost in her cave, sir;
The nymphs of the stage, did his ramrod engage,
Made him free of their gay seminary;
And the Italian signors opened all their back-doors,
To the great Plenipotentiary.
Then of love's sweet reward, measured out by the yard,
The Turk was most blest of mankind, sir,
For his powerful dart went right home to the heart,
Whether stuck in before or behind, sir;
But no pencil can draw, this great pintled Bashaw,—
Then let each c--t loving contemporary,
As cocks of the game, let's drink to the name,
Of the great Plenipotentiary.
( 120 )
MY WIFE'S A WANTON WEE THING.
An old song which appears in Herd's Collection. Burns
amended it in his lyric beginning, "She is a winsome wee thing."
My wife's a wanton wee thing,
My wife's a wanton wee thing,
My wife's a wanton wee thing,
She winna be guided by me.
She play'd the loon or she was married,
She play'd the loon or she was married,
She play'd the loon or she was married,
She'll do it again or she die.
She sell'd her coat and she drank it,
She sell'd her coat and she drank it;
She row'd hersel' in a blanket,
She winna be guided by me.
She mindit na when I forbad her,
She mindit na when I forbad her,
I took a rung and I claw'd her,
An' a braw good bairn was she.
________________________________
HE TILL'T AND SHE TILL'T.
TUNE—"Maggie Lauder."
An old fragment.
He tillt' and she till't,
And a' to make a lad again;
But the auld beld, feckless carle,*
Soon began to nod again.
And he dang, and she flang,
And a' to mak' a lassie o't;
And he bor'd and she roar'd,
But they couldna mak' a lassie o't.
"The old bald, feeble man."
( 121 )
MADGIE CAM TO MY BEDSTOCK.
TUNE—"Clout the Cauldron."
An old fragment.
Madgie cam to my bedstock,
To see gif I was waukin;
I pat my han' atweesh her feet,
An' fand her wee bit maukin.
Fal, lal, &c.
C--t it was the sowen-pat,
An' p—t—e was the ladle;
B--l--ks were the serving men
That waited at the table.
Fal, lal, &c.
( 122 )
TWEEDMOUTH TOWN.
An old song apparently of English origin.
Near Tweedmouth town there liv'd three maids,
Who used to tope good ale;
An' there likewise there liv'd three wives,
Who sometimes wagged their tail;
They often met to tope an' chat,
An' tell odd tales of men;
Cryin' when shall we meet again an' again,
Cryin, when shall we meet again.
Not far from these there liv'd three widows,
With complexions wan and pale,
Who seldom used to tope an' bouse,
An' seldom wagged their tail.
They sigh'd, they pin'd, they griev'd, they whin'd,
An' often did complain,
Shall we, quo' they, ne'er sport or play,
Nor wag our tails again an' again,
Nor wag our tails again.
Nine northern lads with their Scots plads,
By the Union, British call'd,
All nine inch men, to a bousing came,
Wi" their brawny backs I'm tald.
They all agreed to cross the Tweed,
An' ease them of their pain;
They laid them all down,
An' they f------d them all round,
An' crossed the Tweed again an' again,
An' crossed the Tweed again.
( 123 )
WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR.
This is by Burns. It appears in most editions of his published
works.
Wha is that at my bower door?
O wha is it but Findlay!
Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here ;
Indeed maun I! quo' Findlay:
What mak ye, sae like a thief?
O come and see! quo' Findlay:
Before the morn ye'll work mischief;
Indeed will I! quo' Findlay.
Gif I rise and let you in;
Let me in! quo' Findlay:
Ye'll keep me wauken wi' your din;
Indeed will I! quo' Findlay:
In my bower if ye should stay;
Let me stay! quo' Findlay:
I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;
Indeed will I! quo' Findlay.
Here this night if ye remain;
I'll remain! quo' Findlay:
I dread ye'll learn the gate again;
Indeed will I! quo' Findlay.
What may pass within this bower:
Let it pass! quo' Findlay:
Ye maun conceal till your last hour;
Indeed will I! quo' Findlay.
( 124 )
COME COW ME MINNIE.
TUNE—"My mither's aye glowrin' o'er me."
A letter to Robert Cleghorn, dated October 25, 1793 (formerly
quoted), thus concludes—"Mair for token, a fine chiel—a hand-waled
friend and crony o' my ain, gat o'er the lugs in love wi' a
braw, bonie, fodgel hizzie i' the burgh of Annan, by the name
o' 'Bonie Mary,' and I tauld the tale as follows: (N. B.—The
chorus is auld).
"'Come cow me, minnie, come cowe me.'
"TUNE—'My minniefs aye glowerin' o'er me.'
Forgive this wicked scrawl. Thine in all the sincerity of a brace
of honest port.—R. B."
Come cow me minnie, come cow me;
Come cow me minnie, come cow me;
The hair o' my a—e is grown into my c--t,
An' they canna win it for to mow me.
When Mary cam o'er the Border,
When Mary cam o'er the Border,
In troth 'twas approachin' the c--t of a hurchin,
Her a—e was in sic a disorder.
Come cow me, &c.
But wanton Wattie cam west on't,
But wanton Wattie cam west on't,
He did it sae tickle, he left nae as meikle,
As a spider wad biggit a nest on't.
Come cow me, &c.
An' was nae Wattie a blinker,
He m—w'd frae the queen to the tinkler;
Then sat down in grief like the Macedon chief,
For want o' mae warlds to conquer.
Come cow me, &c.
But oh, what a jewel was Mary!
An' what a jewel was Mary,
Her face it was fine an' her bosom divine,
An' her c--t it was theekit wi' glory.
Come cow me, &c.
APPENDIX.
THE
COURT OF EQUITY;
OR,
THE LIBEL SUMMONS.
BY
ROBERT BURNS.
(COMPLETE VERSION)
Collated from the British Museum MSS. and ether Sources.
( 130 )
THE COURT OF EQUITY.
INTRODUCTION.
This youthful jeu d'esprit of the poet was composed in the
Spring of 1786, before the publication of his poems brought him
prominently before the world. At that time, his relations with
Jean Armour, coupled with his former error with Elizabeth Paton,
servant maid to the household at Lochlie, afforded ample material
for the gossips and scandalmongers of Mauchline to "tease his name
in kintra clatter." Along with his friends—John Richmond, law
clerk; James Smith, merchant; and William Hunter, shoemaker—all
then resident in the village—he established a bachelors' club, which
held stated meetings in the "Whitefoord Arms," a hostelry kept by
John Dove, the "Johnie Doo' and "Johnie Pigeon" to whom he
refers in other connections. One of the self-imposed duties of this
secret association was humorously given out to be the supplementing
of the efforts of the Kirk Session by searching out and bringing to
book all transgressors who cultivated the "better art o' hiding."
The poem professedly describes one of the sittings of this bachelors'
club, at which it had constituted itself a "Court of Equity" for
the trial of two alleged offenders—"Sandy," or "Coachman Dow,"
and "Jock," or "Clockie Brown"—against each of whom a "Libel
Summons" was issued, in comical imitation of a regular court of
law, Burns being designated president; Smith, fiscal; Richmond,
clerk; and Hunter, messenger-at-arms.
Judging from the MS. copies which have been preserved, it
does not appear that a final corrected copy was ever executed
by the poet. That the piece is imaginary in some of its details
is proved by the fact that John Richmond left Mauchline for
Edinburgh about November, 1785. A version is preserved in
the British Museum among the Egerton manuscripts; and in the
same collection are to be found a fragment of the same version,
and a curtailed version known as the "Additional MS."1 Besides
these, Mr. Scott Douglas evidently had access to another version,
MS. copies of which he distributed amongst his friends when engaged
on his magnum opus, the Edinburgh edition of the works of the
poet. Concerning the origin of that version we have no information.
1 Referred to in the textual notes as Eg. Ver., "Frag. MS.," and "Add.
MS."
( 131 )
In the transcript given here, we found upon Scott Douglas's version,1
and indicate the differences and variation of the text as established
by comparison.
An incomplete version of the "Court of Equity" seems to have
been first published circa 1810 in octavo sheet form. It also
appears surreptitiously appended to certain editions of the works
of the poet about the same date. We have seen a copy of it in
an appendix to an Alnwick edition, circa 1810. In 1827 it was
printed in that filthy receptacle, "The Merry Muses"—the volume
with which the name of Burns has been so erroneously and unjustly
associated, and it is still retained in the ever-recurring issues of
the obscenities therein contained. In 1893, an expurgated version
was published in the Aldine edition, under the editorship of Mr.
G. A. Aitken. Scott Douglas quotes the opening lines in his
Kilmarnock edition, and again refers to the production in his Edinburgh
edition (Vol. I., pp. 163, 166). Robert Chambers thus
refers to it—"He composed, on the 4th of June, a poem on the
reigning scandals of his village, cases on which the Session Record
throws ample light, if light were of any use in the matter; but,
unfortunately, though the mock-serious was never carried to a greater
pitch of excellence than in this poem, its license of phrase renders
it utterly unfit for publication." To this Dr. Wallace, in his new
edition of Chambers, appends—"The composition is full of tenderness
and humanity, but it is too 'broad' for publication."
Concerning the dramatis persona Richmond was law clerk with
Gavin Hamilton before he removed to Edinburgh, and it was in
his lodgings that Burns found accommodation during his first visit
to that city. He spent the last years of his life in Mauchline, and
died there in 1846. Smith, to whom he addresses one of his epistles,
was a draper in his native town who started an unsuccessful calico
printing business in Lesmahagow, and ultimately died in Jamaica.
Hunter was the village shoemaker, of whom no mention is made
save in this effusion. The worthy trio, it appears, had each had
experience of the pains and penalties which attached to personal
appearance before the Kirk Session of Mauchline, hence their
selection by the poet as the accredited officials of the mock tribunal.
Sandy Dow (son of John Dow or Dove, mine host of the "White-foord
Arms") drove the coach between Mauchline and Kilmarnock,
hence his soubriquet of "Coachman." John Brown ("Clockie
Brown") was watch and clockmaker in the village, and the hero
of "Lament him, Mauchline husbands a'," which is dedicated to
"Johannis Fuscus," in the original MS. The harder terms meted
out to him seem to have been because of the aggravations condescended
upon, and because he was not, like Dow, a brother "of
the mystic tie" of Freemasonry. Of the heroines, nothing of certainty
1 Referred to as "S. D.'s version.'
( 132 )
is known of Jeanie Mitchell. Maggie Borland was the daughter
of the landlord of another hostelry, "The Red Lion." The "Godly
Bryan" and his particular transgression are referred to in a paragraph,
sometimes omitted, from Burns's letter to John Richmond,
of July 9, 1786. "Godly Bryan was in the Inquisition yesterday,
and half the countryside as witnesses against him. He still stands
out steady and denying; but proof was led yesternight of circumstances
highly suspicious, almost de facto: one of the girls made
oath that she upon a time rashly entered the house (to speak in
your cant) 'in the hour of cause.'" As a matter of fact, Bryan,
farmer, West Welton, did actually appear before the Session of
Mauchline on July 8, 1786, to answer to a charge of immorality
preferred against him. He died at Mauchline, and is buried in
the churchyard there. The scene of Brown's imaginary punishment
was the village green, in the centre of which then stood the village
pump, a handy stake to which to tie the culprit, while the populace
energetically expressed their opinion of him in the literal way which
then obtained.
By the aid of these brief notes, it will be found that the poem
sufficiently explains itself.
In Truth and Honour's name—Amen!
Know all men by these presents plain,
The Fourth o' June,1 at Mauchline given,
The year 'tween eighty-five and seven,
We, old practitioners, 2 by profession,
As per extracts frae Books o' Session,3
In way and manner here narrated,
All con amore(4) congregated,
Are, by our brethren, constituted
A Court of Equity deputed,
With special authorised direction,
To take within our strict protection,
The open stay-laced5 quondam maiden,
With growing life and anguish laden,
Who, by the miscreant,6 is denied,
That led her thoughtless steps aside;
1 This twalt o May.—Eg. Ver. 4th of June.—Add. MS.
2 We, fornicators.—Eg. Ver.
3 As per extractum from each Session.—Eg. Ver.
4 Pro bono amor.—Add. MS.
5 The stays unlacing.—Eg. Ver. The stays outbursting.—Add. MS.
6 Scoundrel, Eg. Ver.—Rascal, Add. MS.
( 133 )
He who disowns the ruined fair one,
And for her wants and woes does care none,7
The wretch who can deny subsistence,
To life he rak'd into existence ;8
The coof wha stands on clishmaclaver,
When lassies halflins offer favour ;9
The sneak wha at a lassie's by-job,
Defrauds her wi' a frig or dry-bob ;10
The knave, wha takes a private stroke,
Beneath a sanctimonious cloak;
In short, all who in any manner,11
Shall stain the fornicator's honour;
To take cognisance thereanent,
And punish the impenitent,12
We are the judges competent.
First Poet Burns he takes the chair,
Allow'd by a' his title's clear,13
He shows a duplicate pretension, 14
To pass nem. con, without dissension:
Neist, Merchant Smith, our trusty Fiscal,
To cow each pertinacious rascal,
For whilk, his very foes admit,15
His merit is conspicuous great;
Richmond, the third, our worthy clerk,
Our minutes he will duly mark,16
And sit, dispenser o' the law,
In absence o' the ither twa;17
And fourth, our messenger-at-arms,
When failing a' the milder terms,
7 This couplet found only in Add. MS.
8 The wretch that can refuse assistance,
To those to whom he has given existence.
9 This couplet found only in the Frag. MS.
10 This couplet found only in S. D.'s Version.
11 All who in any way or manner.—Eg. Ver.
12 This line omitted in Egerton Version.
13 "Fair."—Eg. Ver.
14 An allusion to his two lapses.
15 In this, as every other state.—Eg. Ver.
16 Our minutes regular to mark.—Eg. Ver.
17 "Former twa."—Eg. Ver.
( 134 )
Hunter, a hearty willing bother,
Weel skilled in dead and livin' leather.
Without preamble, less or mair said,
We—body politic—aforesaid,
For sake o' them for whom and wherefore,18
We are appointed here to care for,
Shall punish contravening truants,
At instance of our constituents,
And under proper regulation
Amend the lists of fornication.19
Whereas our fiscal, by petition,
Informs us there is strong suspicion
That Coachman Dow and Clockie Brown,
Baith residenters in this toun—
In ither words, you, Jock and Sandy,
Hae been at warks o' houghmagandie;
And noo when facts are brought tae light,
Thae facts ye baith deny outright.20
First, Clockie Brown, there's witness borne,
And affidavit made and sworn,
That ye hae wrought a hurly-burly,21
In Jeanie Mitchell's turlie-whurlie,
And graizl'd 22 at her regulator,
Till a' her wheels gang clittcr-clatter;23
And, further still, you cruel Vandal—
A tale might e'en in hell be scandal—
That ye hae made repeated trials,24
Wi' drogs and draps in doctors' vials,
Mixed, as ye thought, in fell infusion,
Your ain begotten wean to poosion;
18 With legal due whereas and wherefore.—Eg. Ver.
19 There is a slight variation of this quartette in the Egerton Version.
20 The matter ye deny outright.—Eg. Ver.
21 That ye hae raised.—Eg. Ver. That ye hae bred.—Add. MS.
22 "Bloostr'd" in some printed copies.
23 This couplet is found in S. D.'s version alone.
24 Ye've made repeated wicked trials.—Eg. Ver.
( 135 )
And yet ye are sae scant o' grace,
As daur to lift your brazen face,25
And offer here to tak' your aith,26
Ye never lifted Jeanie's claith;
But though ye should yoursel' manswear,27
Laird Wilson's sclates can witness bear,
Last Mauchline February Fair,28
That Jeanie's masts ye laid them bare,29
And ye had furled up her sails,30
And was at play at heads and tails.
Next, Sandy Dow, ye are indited,
As publicly ye hae been wyted,
For aft clandestinely upwhirlin'31
The petticoats o' Maggie Borlan',
And gien' her canister a-rattle,
That months hereafter winna settle ;32
And yet, ye loon, ye still protest33
Ye never harried Maggie's nest,
Tho' its weel ken'd that at her gyvil,34
Ye've dune what time will soon unravel.
Sae, Brown and Dow, above designed
For clags and claims hereto subjoined,35
The Court aforesaid cite and summon,
That on the fourth o' July comin',36
The hour o' cause, in our Court-ha',
The Whitefoord Arms, ye'll answer a' ;37
25 Ye daur set up.—Eg. Vr.
26 And offer for to tak'.—Eg. Ver.
27 But though by heaven and hell ye swear.—Eg. Ver.
28 Ae e'enin' o' a Mauchline fair.—Eg. Ver.
29 They saw them bare,—Eg. Ver.
30 For ye had.—Eg. Ver.
31 To have, as publicly ye're wyted,
Been clandestinely upward whirlin'.—Eg. Ver.
32 That months to come it.—Eg. Ver.
33 And yet ye offer your protest.—Eg. Ver.
34 Ye hae gi'en mony a kytch and kyvil.—Eg. Ver.
35 For clags and clauses there subjoined.—Eg. Ver.
36 That on the 4th o' June incomin'.—Eg. Ver.
37 Ye answer law.—Eg. Ver.
( 136 )
Exculpate proof ye needna bring,
For we're resolved about the thing;38
Yet, as reluctantly we punish,
And rather would with zeal admonish,39
Since better punishment prevented,
Than obstinacy sair repented,40
We, for that ancient secret's sake
Ye have the honour to partake,
And for that noble badge you wear,
You, Sandy Dow, our brither dear,
We give you as a man and mason,
This serious, sober, frien'ly lesson;
Your crime—a manly deed we trow it,
For men, and men alone, can do it,
And he's nae man that won't avow it;41
Therefore, confess, and join our core,
And keep reproach outside the door,
For in denial persevering,
Is to a scoundrel's name adhering;42
The best o' men hae been surprised,
The doucest women been advised,
The cleverest lads hae had a trick o't,
The bonniest lassies ta'en a lick o't,
Kings hae been proud our name to own,43
As adding glory to their crown,
The rhyming sons o' bleak Parnassus,
Were aye red-wud about the lasses,
And saul and body baith would venture,
Rejoicing in our lists to enter,
E'en (who wad trow't), the cleric order,
Aft slyly break the hallowed border,
And show, in kittle time and place,
They are as scant o' boasted grace
As ony o' the human race:
38 This couplet is found only in S. D.'s Ver.
39 And rather mildly would admonish.—Eg. Ver.
40 This couplet is found only in the Eg. Ver.
41 This line is awanting in the Eg. Ver.
42 This couplet is found only in the Eg. Ver.
43 This and the ten lines immediately following are found only in S. D.'s Ver.
( 137 )
So, Sandy Dow, be not ashamed
In sic' a quorum to be named ;44
See, even himsel'—there's godly Bryan,45
The auld whatreck, he has been tryin';
When such as he put tae their han',
What man on character need stan' ?
Then lift an honest face upon it,
When in a fau't, it's best to own it,
"I, Sandy Dow, gat Meg wi' wean,"
"An's just as fit to do't again;"46
Ne'er mind their solemn reverend faces,
Had they, in proper times and places,
But seen and "fun"—I muckle dread it,
They just would dune as you and we did ;
To tell the truth's a manly lesson,
An' doubly proper in a mason.47
For you, Jock Brown, sae black your fau't is,
Sae doubly dyed—we gi'e you notice,48
Unless you come to quick repentance,49
Acknowledge Jean's and your acquaintance,
Remember this shall be your sentence:—
Our beagles50 to the Cross will tak' ye,
And there shall mither-naked mak' ye,
Some cannie grip near by your middle,
They shall it bind as tight's a fiddle,51
44 In the Eg. Ver. this runs-
Then, Brother Dow, if you're ashamed,
In such a quorum to be named,
Your conduct much is to be blamed.
45 This and the three following lines are only found in the Eg. Ver.
46 In the Eg. Ver. this runs—
Then, Brither Dow, lift up your brow,
And, like yoursel', the truth avow,
Erect a dauntless face upon it,
And say, "I am the man has done it,"
"I, Sandy Dow, gat Meg wi' wean,
An's fit to do as much again."
47 The previous six lines are found only in the Eg. Ver.
48 You, Monsieur Brown, as it is proven,
Jean Mitchell's wame by you was hoven.—Eg. Ver.
49 Without you by a quick repentance.—Eg. Ver.
50 Beadles.—Eg. Ver.
51 This couplet found only in the Eg, Ver.
( 138 )
The rape they round the pump shall tak',52
And tie your han's ahint your back,
Wi' just an ell o' string allowed,
To jink and hide ye frae the crowd,
There shall ye stand—a lawfu' seizure,
Enduring Jeanie Mitchell's pleasure,
Sae be her pleasure don't surpass,53
Five turnings o' a half-hour glass,54
Nor will it in her pleasure be,
To turn you loose in less than three.
This our futurum esse decrete,
We mean not to be kept a secret,
But in our summons here insert it,
And whoso dares let him subvert it;55
Thus, marked above, the date and place is,
Sigillum est, per Burns, the praeses,
This summons, wi' the signet mark,56
Extractum est, per Richmond, Clerk;57
At Mauchline, idem date of June,58
'Tween four and five of afternoon,
You twa, in propia persona,
Before designed, Sandy and Johnie,
This summons legally ye've got it,
As vide witness undernoted,59
Within the house of John Dow, vintner,
Nunc facio hoc, Gulielmus Hunter.
52 Around your rump.—S. D.'s Ver.
53 Dinna pass.—Eg. Ver.
54 Seven turnings—Eg. Ver.
55 Whoso dares may controvert it.—Eg. Ver.
56 In the Eg. Ver. the signature here appears "(L. S.) B....."
57 Richmond's signature here appears "R....d."
58 At Mauchline, twenty-fifth of May, about the twalt hour o' the day.—
Eg. Ver.
59 This summons legally have got,
As vide witness underwrote.—Eg. Ver.
( 139 )
To Mr. Robert Ainslie, W. S., Edinburgh,
Mauchline, March 3d, 1788.
My dear Friend—
I am just returned from Mr. Miller's farm. My old friend
whom I took with me was highly pleased with the bargain, and
advised me to accept of it. He is the most intelligent, sensible
farmer in the country, and his advice has staggered me a good
deal. I have the two plans before me. I shall endeavour to
balance them to the best of my judgment and fix on the most
eligible. On the whole, if I find Mr. Miller in the same favourable
disposition as when I saw him last, I shall in all probability turn
farmer.
I have been through sore tribulations and under much buffetting
of the Wicked One since I came to this country. Jean,* I found
banished like a martyr-forlorn, destitute and friendless. All for the
good old cause. I have reconciled her to her fate. I have reconciled
her to her mother. I have taken her a room. I have taken
her to my arms. I have given her a mahogany bed. I have given
her a guinea, and I have f------d her till she rejoiced with joy
unspeakable and full of glory. But, as I always am on every
occasion, I have been prudent and cautious to an astonishing degree.
I have swore her privately and solemnly never to attempt any claim
on me as a husband, even though anybody should persuade her she
had such a claim (which she had not), neither during my life
nor after my death. She did all this like a good girl, and I took
the opportunity of some dry horse litter, and gave her such a
thundering scalade that electrified the very marrow of her bones.
Oh, what a peacemaker is a guid weel-willy p------le! It is the
mediator, the guarantee, the umpire, the bond of union, the solemn
league and covenant, the plenipotentiary, the Aaron's rod, the
Jacob's staff, the prophet Elisha's pot of oil, the Ahasuerus' sceptre,
the sword of mercy, the philosopher's stone, the horn of plenty,
the Tree of Life between Man and Woman.
I shall be in Edinburgh the middle of next week. My farming
ideas I shall keep private till I see. I got a letter from Clarinda
yesterday, and she tells me she has got no letter of mine but one.
Tell her that I wrote to her from Glasgow, from Kilmarnock, from
Mauchline, and yesterday from Cumnoch, as I returned from Dumfries.
Indeed she is the only person in Edinburgh I have written to
till to-day. How are your soul and body putting up? A little
like man and wife, I suppose.
Your faithful friend,
R. B.
* Jean Armour.
Note.—For a history of this letter and the circumstances under which
it was written see page 26 of Introduction.
( 140 )
GLOSSARY.
A', all.
Aboon, above.
Abreed, abroad, in breadth.
Ae, one.
Aff, off.
Aft, oft.
Aiblins, may be, perhaps.
Aik, oak.
Ain, own.
Airt, to direct.
Aith, oath.
Amang, among.
Ance, once.
Ane, one.
Arle, airle, hansel, earnest money.
Arselins coup, a falling backwards on the buttocks.
Atweesh, betwixt.
Auld, auldest, old, oldest.
Awa', away.
Bairn, bairned, child; got with child.
Baith, both.
Bane, bone.
Bann'd, cursed.
Bauld, bauldy, bold, boldly.
Bawsent, white streaked.
Befa', befall.
Behin', behind.
Belang, belong.
Belyve, by-and-by.
Ben, into the spence or parlour, within.
Bent, way, road.
Benty, grassy.
Bicker, to run, or scamper, to hasten.
Birkie, a fellow.
Blin', blind.
Blink, glance.
Blinker, an ogler.
Bock, bockin', to vomit; vomit-ing.
Boddle, a farthing.
Bonie, bonnie, pretty, beautiful.
Brae, a small hill, the slope of a hill.
Brak, broke.
Brandy-stoup, brandy cup.
Braw, handsome, fine, gaily dressed.
Brawlies, finely, perfectly, heartily.
Brise, to crash, to plunge.
Brither, brother.
Erose, porridge.
Browst, a draught of malt liquor.
Brunt, burned.
Busk, dress, to dress.
Butt, without.
Byke, bee-hive.
Ca', ca'd, call, to call; called.
Ca't, call it.
Cadger, a hawker.
Cam, came.
Canna, cannot.
Canty, cheerful, lively, jolly, merry.
Carle, a man, an old man.
Carlin, middle aged, or old woman, a beldame.
Cauld, cold.
Chiel (i. e. child), a young fellow (indicates approval).
Claes, clothes.
Claith, cloth.
Clash, chatter, tattle.
Claw, claw'd, to scratch, to strike.
Clawing, scratching, or striking.
Clew, scratched.
Clishmaclaver, gossip, tale bearing.
Clouts, diapers, cloths or rags.
Coft, bought.
Coggin, wobbling.
Coof, dolt, ninny.
Coost, cast, threw off.
Coulna, couldn't.
Coup, capsize, upset, tumble.
Cow, to crop, cut, or clip the hair.
Cow, cow'd, to daunt; scared, scolded, daunted.
Crack, to chat, to talk.
Crap, crept.
Creels, baskets.
Creepie-chair, stool of repentance.
Creesh'd, greased.
Dad, daddie, father.
Dang, to strike.
Daud, a large piece.
Daunton, to daunt.
Daur, dare.
Dawtin, petting, caressing.
( 141 )
Deevil, deil, devil.
Devil's dizzen, thirteen.
Ding, to strike.
Dinna, do not.
Dizzen, dozen.
Doited, muddled, stupid.
Doucest, most sedate, most prudent.
Dought, could. Doup, the arse.
Dow, am (is or are) able, can.
Dow'na do's, cannot-dos.
Down cod, soft pillow.
Duddie, ragged.
Duntie-duntie, pitter-patter.
Dunts, blows, thrusts.
Dyke, a fence, or wall.
E'e, een, eye, eyes.
E'en, evening, night.
E'er, ever.
Enow, enough.
Fa', fa'n, fall, to fall; fallen.
Fa', lot, portion; claims.
Fairing, a present from a fair.
Fand, found.
Fash, to trouble, to worry over.
Fashed, bothered, annoyed,
vexed.
Faund, found.
Faut, fault.
Fautor, transgressor.
Fecht, fight, to fight.
Feetie, small feet.
Fidge, wriggle.
Fidgin-fain, tingling-wild, tingling with fondness.
Fient, not a.
Fin', to find.
Fistles, fidgets, tingles.
Fit-man, footman.
Fit-stead, footsteps.
Flang, flung.
Fly'd, frightened, scared.
Fou, fu', full.
Frae, from.
Fur, furrow.
Fyke, to fidget.
Gae, gave.
Gae, gaes, to go; goes.
Gaed, went.
Gaen, gane, gone.
Gair, slash.
Gang, go, to go.
Gars, to cause, to make.
Gart, made.
Gat, got.
Gate, way.
Gaud, goad.
Gaun, going.
Gear, goods.
Gerse, grass.
Gi'e, give.
Gied, gave.
Gien, given.
Gif, if.
Gin, if, should, whether.
Gipsies, young women, lassies.
Girdin', stroke, blow, to thrust;
to pierce, strike; to move with
expedition and force; any
work done with energy and speed.
Gizzen, dry up, split.
Glaiks, to jilt.
Gled, a hawk, a kite.
Glowran, glowr'd, stared fixedly; stare fixedly.
Goazle, to look dazedly. Gowan, daisy.
Gowd, gowden, gold; golden.
Graith, implements, tools, gear.
Grane, groan. Grat, wept.
Greetie, cry. Gude, good.
Gudeman, husband. Gudewife, the mistress of the
house, landlady.
Hae, have.
Haet, have it.
Haith, faith (an oath).
Haly, holy.
Hame, home.
Haud, to hold, to keep.
Heigh, high.
Herryin', hurrying.
Hiney, hinnie, honey.
Hing, hang, to hang.
Hissey, a hussy, a wench.
Hotch'd, jerked.
Houghmagandie, fornication.
Houghs, legs. Howe, hollow, dell.
Hoy'd, chased, drove.
Hurchin, urchin.
Hurdies, the buttocks.
Ilk, ilka, each; every.
Ither, other.
( 142 )
J'ander, jabber.
Jimp, small, slender.
Jo, a sweetheart.
Kail, the colewart (also cabbage), Scots broth.
Keek, to look, to glance.
Ken, ken'd, kens, know, to know; known ; knows.
Kimmer, wife, or bed-fellow.
Kipples, rafters.
Kirk, church.
Kittle, difficult, ticklish.
Knowe, a knoll, a hillock,
Laft, loft.
Laigh, low.
Laithern doup, lazy arse.
Lane, lone.
Lang, long.
Langsyne, old time; long since.
Lap, leapt.
Lave, the rest, the remainder, the others.
Laverock, the lark.
Lea, grass, untilled land. (Also
used in an equivocal sense.)
Leeze me on, blessings on, commend me to.
Lien, lain.
Linkin', dancing.
Loe, hoe'd, love; loved.
Loot, let, to let.
Loup, hups, to leap; leaps.
Louse, lous'd, to loose; loosed.
Lowe, blaze.
Lows'd, see lous'd.
Mair, more.
Maist, most.
Malison, a curse.
Mantie, dresses, gowns.
Mark, an old Scots coin (13 1/3 d. sterling).
Maukin, a hare.
Maun, must.
Maunna, mustn't.
Maut, malt.
Mawn, a large basket.
Meal-pocks, meal bags.
Mess John, parish priest, minister.
Mickle, muckle, much.
Mim-mou'd, prim-lipped.
Minnie, mother.
Misca'd, misca's, miscalled, abused; abuses.
Mony, many.
Moudiewart, the mole.
Mow, Scots cant for copulation.
Muir, heath.
Na, nae, no; not.
Naething, nothing.
Nane, none.
Neist, next.
Nicher'd, to laugh, to snicker.
Nidg't, squeezed.
Nieve, nievefu', the fist; fistful.
Nits, nuts ("nits and slaes", nuts
and plums).
Nocht, nothing. O', of.
O'er, over.
O't, of it.
Ony, any.
Oure, over.
Owsen, oxen.
Paitrick, partridge.
Pat, pat i', put; put in.
Pegh, to puff.
Pibroch, a Highland air.
Pickle, few, little, small, quantity.
Pintle, a bolt (also used in an
equivocal sense).
Pith, heart, strength.
Plack, four pennies Scots.
Pock, poke, wallet, small bag.
Pow, the poll, the head.
Pownie, a pony.
Prie, to taste, to kiss.
Pu', pu'd, pu'in, to pull or pluck;
pulled or plucked; pulling or
plucking.
Quarter, 1/4 Scots ell (37 1/3
in).
Quech, a mug or cup.
Quean, quine, a young woman,
a lass.
Rair, roar.
Ranting, roistering, rollicking.
Rape, rope.
Rashes, rushes,
Rashy, rushy.
Ream, reams, to cream, to foam;
foams.
Red-wud, stark mad.
Rede, counsel, to advise.
Reek, smoke, vapor, steam.
Reft, torn, ripped.
Ripples, King's Evil.
( 143 )
Rive, to split, tear, or rend.
Rock, a distaff.
Row, (rowe), roiw'd, roll, to
roll; rolled.
Rung, a cudgel.
Sae, so.
Saft, soft.
Sair, sairly, sore; sorely.
Saired, served.
Sark, a shirt.
Saunt, saint.
Sheep-cloot, sheep's hoof.
Sheet-fit, sheep's foot.
Shoon, shoes, boots.
Sic, such.
Sicker, certain, surely.
Siller, silver, money in general,
wealth.
Sin syne, since then.
Skelpit-doup, spanked arse.
Sock, ploughshare.
Sonsie, pleasant, jolly.
Sou'd, should.
Souple, soupled, supple, suppled (made flexible).
Span, spun.
Spier, to ask.
Stane, stone.
Stang, sting.
Stank, a pond, a pool.
Stap, to stop.
Stark, strong.
Staun', staunin', stand; standing.
Stell'd, fixed.
Sten, leap, spring, push.
Stibble, stubble.
Strack, struck.
Strang, strong.
Succar, sugar.
Syne, since, then.
Tae, to.
Tae, taes, toe; toes.
Tak', take.
Tald, told.
Tent, heed, to tend, to take care of.
Thae, those.
Thegither, together.
Thirl, thrill.
Thole, to endure, to suffer.
Thrang, thronged, crowded.
Thraw, to thwart.
Thretteen, thirteen.
Thumpin' quine, robust young
woman. Till't, to it.
Tinkler, tinker.
Tint, lost.
Tither, the other.
Tittling, the hedge-sparrow.
Titty, fretfulness.
Tocher, dowry.
Toop-horn, ram's horn. Towmond, twelve-month.
Trogger, a pedler.
Troggin', wares.
Trow, believe, suppose.
Tuip, a ram.
Twa', two.
Unco, strange, uncommon, terrible ; mightily.
Wa', wall.
Wabster, weaver.
Wad, would, would have.
Wae, waes, woe; woes.
Waled, chosen.
Wame, the belly.
Wan, won.
Wap, wrap.
Wark, work.
Warld, world.
Wasna' was not, wasn't.
Wat, know.
Wat, wet.
Wauken'd, wakened.
Waukin', awake.
Wauly, nimble.
Waur, worse.
Waur'd, worsted, beat.
Wean, (wee one) a child.
Wee, little, a little.
Weel, well.
Weet, wet, rain.
Wha, who.
Wha's, who is.
Wham, whom.
Whar, where.
Whatreck, what matter.
Wit, with.
Wi't a', with it all.
Wight, strong, stout.
Wimble-bores, small holes.
Winna, will not.
Winna trow, will not believe.
Winnocks, windows.
Wistna', knew not.
Wrang, wrong.
Wyled, enticed.
Wyte, wyted, blame; blamed, reproached.
Yestre'en, last night.
Ye'se, ye shall.