Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/162
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THE POEMS OF BURNS.
But Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit;I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit;An' gif it's sae, ye sud be licketUntil ye fyke;Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit,Be hain't wha like.
For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink,Rivin' the words tae gar them clink;Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink,Wi' jads or masons;An' whyles, but aye owre låte, I thinkBraw sober lessons.
Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man,Commend me to the Bardie clan;Except it be some idle planO' rhymin clink,The devil-haet, that I sud ban,They ever think.
Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin',Nae cares ta gie us joy or grievin';But just the pouchie put the nieve in,An' while ought's there,Then hiltie skiltie, we gae scrievin',An' fash nae mair.
Leeze me on rhyme! it's aye a treasure,My chief, amaist my only pleasure,At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure,The Muse, poor hizzie!Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure,She's seldom lazy.
Haud tae the Muse, my dainty Davie:The warl' may play you monie a shavie;But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye,Tho' e'er sae puir,Na, even tho' limpin' wi' the spavieFrae door tae door.
THE INVENTORY,
IN ANSWER TO THE USUAL MANDATE SENT BY A SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES, REQUIRING A RETURN OF THE NUMBER OF HORSES, SERVANTS, CARRIAGES, ETC., KEPT.
Sir, as your mandate did request,I send you here a faithfu' list,O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith,To which I'm clear to gi'e my aith.Imprimis then, for carriage cattle,I have four brutes o' gallant mettle,As ever drew afore a pettle;My han' afore's a gude auld has-been,An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been;My han' ahin's a weel gaun fillie,That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,An' your auld burrough monie a time,In days when riding was nae crime—But ance whan in my wooing prideI like a blockhead boost to ride,The wilfu' creature sae I pat to,(Lord, pardon a' my sins an' that too!)I play'd my fillie sic a shavie,She's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie.My furr-ahin's a wordy beast,As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd,—The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie,A damn'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie.Foreby a Cowte, o' Cowte's the wale,As ever ran afore a tail;If he be spar'd to be a beast,He'll draw me fifteen pun at least.—Wheel carriages I ha'e but few,Three carts, an' twa are feckly new;Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token,Ae leg, an' baith the trams, are broken;I made a poker o' the spin'le,An' my auld mother brunt the trin'le.For men, I've three mischievous boys,Run de'ils for rantin' an' for noise;A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other,Wee Davock hauds the nowte in fother.I rule them as I ought discreetly,An' often labour them completely.An' ay on Sundays duly nightly,I on the questions tairge them tightly;