Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/137

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THE POEMS OF BURNS.
85
O' saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them naithingTo ken them by,Frae ony unregenerate heathenLike you or I.
I've sent you here some rhyming ware,A' that I bargained for, an' mair;Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare,I will expect,Yon sang, ye'll sen't, wi' cannie care,And no neglect.
Tho', faith, sma' heart hae I to sing!My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing!I've play'd mysel a bonie spring,An' danc'd my fill!I'd better gaen an' sair't the kingAt Bunker's Hill.
'Twas ae night lately, in my fun,I gaed a roving wi' the gun,An' brought a paitrick to the grun,A bonie hen,And, as the twilight was begun,Thought nane wad ken.
The poor, wee thing was little hurt;I straikit it a wee for sport,Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't;But, Deil-ma-care!Somebody tells the poacher-courtThe hale affair.
Some auld, us'd hands had ta'en a note,That sic a hen had got a shot;I was suspected for the plot;I scorn'd to lie;So gat the whissle o' my groat,An' pay't the fee.
But, by my gun, o' guns the wale,An' by my pouther an' my hail,An' by my hen, an' by her tail,I vow an' swear!The game shall pay, o'er moor an' dale,For this, niest year.
As soon's the clockin-time is by,An' the wee pouts begun to cry,Lord, I'se hae sportin by an' by,For my gowd guinea;Tho' I should herd the buckskin kyeFor't, in Virginia.
Trowth, they had muckle for to blame!'Twas neither broken wing nor limb,But twa-three draps about the wameScarce thro' the feathers;An' baith a yellow George to claim,An' thole their blethers!
It pits me aye as mad's a hare;So I can rhyme nor write nae mair;But pennyworths again is fair,When time's expedient:Meanwhile I am, respected Sir,Your most obedient.

WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE, ON NITH-SIDE.

Thou whom chance may hither lead,Be thou clad in russet weed,Be thou deck'd in silken stole,Grave these counsels on thy soul. Life is but a day at most,Sprung from night in darkness lost;Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour,Fear not clouds will always lour. As Youth and Love, with sprightly dance,Beneath thy morning star advance,Pleasure with her syren airMay delude the thoughtless pair;Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup,Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up.
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