ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.
waefu' want and hunger fley me,
glowrin' by the hallan en';
sair i fecht them at the door,
but aye i'm eerie theye ben.
ance crowdie, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns mallys meek, mallys sweet mally's meek, mally's sweet
chorus—mally's meek, mally's sweet,
mally's modest and discreet;
mally's rare, mally's fair,
mally's every wayplete.
as i was walking up the street,
a barefit maid i chanc'd to meet;
but o the road was very hard
for that fair maiden's tender feet.
mally's meek, c.
it were mair meet that those fine feet
were weel laced up in silken shoon;
an' 'twere more fit that she should sit
within yon chariot gilt aboon,
mally's meek, c.
her yellow hair, beyondpare,
es trinklin down her swan-like neck,
and her two eyes, like stars in skies,
would keep a sinking ship frae wreck,
mally's meek, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns jockeys taen the parting kiss jockey's taen the parting kiss
air—“bonie lass tak a man.”
jockey's taen the parting kiss,
o'er the mountains he is gane,
and with him is a' my bliss,
nought but griefs with me remain,
spare my love, ye winds that blaw,
plashy sleets and beating rain!
spare my love, thou feath'ry snaw,
drifting o'er the frozen plain!
when the shades of evening creep
o'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e,
sound and safely may he sleep,
sweetly blythe his waukening be.
he will think on her he loves,
fondly he'll repeat her name;
for where'er he distant roves,
jockey's heart is still the same.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns verses to collector mitchell verses to collector mitchell
friend of the poet, tried and leal,
wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal;
alake, alake, the meikle deil
wi' a' his witches
are at it skelpin jig and reel,
in my poor pouches?
i modestly fu' fain wad hint it,
that one—pound—one, i sairly want it;
if wi' the hizzie down ye sent it,
it would be kind;
and while my heart wi' life-blood dunted,
i'd bear't in mind.
so may the auld year gang out moanin'
to see the newe laden, groanin',
wi' double plenty o'er the loanin',
to thee and thine:
domestic peace andforts crownin'
the hale design.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns postscript postscript
ye've heard this while how i've been lickit,
and by fell death was nearly nickit;
grim loon! he got me by the fecket,
and sair me sheuk;
but by gude luck i lap a wicket,
and turn'd a neuk.
but by that health, i've got a share o't,
but by that life, i'm promis'd mair o't,
my hale and wee, i'll tak a care o't,
a tentier way;
then farewell folly, hide and hair o't,
for ance and aye!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the dean of faculty 1796
the dean of faculty
a new ballad
tune—“the dragon of wantley.”
dire was the hate at old harlaw,
that scot to scot did carry;
and dire the discord langside saw
for beauteous, hapless mary:
but scot to scot ne'er met so hot,
or were more in fury seen, sir,
than 'twixt hal and bob for the famous job,
who should be the faculty's dean, sir.
this hal for genius, wit and lore,
among the first was number'd;
but pious bob, 'mid learning's store,
mandment the tenth remember'd:
yet simple bob the victory got,
and wan his heart's desire,
which shews that heaven can boil the pot,
tho' the devil piss in the fire.
squire hal, besides, had in this case
pretensions rather brassy;
for talents, to deserve a place,
are qualifications saucy.
so their worships of the faculty,
quite sick of merit's rudeness,
chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see,
to their gratis grace and goodness.
as once on pisgah purg'd was the sight
of a son of circumcision,
so may be, on this pisgah height,
bob's purblind mental vision—
nay, bobby's mouth may be opened yet,
till for eloquence you hail him,
and swear that he has the angel met
that met the ass of balaam.
in your heretic sins may you live and die,
ye heretic eight-and-tairty!
but accept, ye sublime majority,
my congratulations hearty.
with your honours, as with a certain king,
in your servants this is striking,
the more incapacity they bring,
the more they're to your liking.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns epistle to colonel de peyster epistle to colonel de peyster
my honor'd colonel, deep i feel
your interest in the poet's weal;
ah! now sma' heart hae i to speel
the steep parnassus,
surrounded thus by bolus pill,
and potion glasses.
o what a canty world were it,
would pain and care and sickness spare it;
and fortune favour worth and merit
as they deserve;
and aye rowth o' roast-beef and claret,
syne, wha wad starve?
dame life, tho' fiction out may trick her,
and in paste gems and frippery deck her;
oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker
i've found her still,
aye wavering like the willow-wicker,
'tween good and ill.
then that curst carmagnole, auld satan,
watches like baudrons by a ratton
our sinfu' saul to get a claut on,
wi'felon ire;
syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on,
he's aff like fire.
ah nick! ah nick! it is na fair,
first showing us the tempting ware,
bright wines, and bonie lasses rare,
to put us daft
syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare
o hell's damned waft.
poor man, the flie, aft bizzes by,
and aft, as chance hees thee nigh,
thy damn'd auld elbow yeuks wi'joy
and hellish pleasure!
already in thy fancy's eye,
thy sicker treasure.
soon, heels o'er gowdie, in he gangs,
and, like a sheep-head on a tangs,
thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs,
and murdering wrestle,
as, dangling in the wind, he hangs,
a gibbet's tassel.
but lest you think i am uncivil
to plague you with this draunting drivel,
abjuring a' intentions evil,
i quat my pen,
the lord preserve us frae the devil!
amen! amen!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns a lass wi a tocher a lass wi' a tocher
tune—“ballinamona ora.”
awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,
the slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms,
o, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms,
o, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms.
chorus—then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher,
then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher;
then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher;
the nice yellow guineas for me.
your beauty's a flower in the morning that blows,
and withers the faster, the faster it grows:
but the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes,
ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes.
then hey, for a lass, c.
and e'en when this beauty your bosom hath blest
the brightest o' beauty may cloy when possess'd;
but the sweet, yellow darlings wi' geordie impress'd,
the langer ye hae them, the mair they're carest.
then hey, for a lass, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns heron election ballad, no. iv. heron election ballad, no. iv.
the trogger.
tune—“buy broom besoms.”
wha will buy my troggin, fine election ware,