Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns Part 107

Apology For Declining An Invitation To Dine

No more of your guests, be they t.i.tled or not, And cookery the first in the nation; Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, Is proof to all other temptation.

Epitaph For Mr. Gabriel Richardson

Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, And empty all his barrels: He's blest--if, as he brew'd, he drink, In upright, honest morals.

Epigram On Mr. James Gracie

Gracie, thou art a man of worth, O be thou Dean for ever!

May he be d.a.m.ned to h.e.l.l henceforth, Who fauts thy weight or measure!

Bonie Peg-a-Ramsay

Cauld is the e'enin blast, O' Boreas o'er the pool, An' dawin' it is dreary, When birks are bare at Yule.

Cauld blaws the e'enin blast, When bitter bites the frost, And, in the mirk and dreary drift, The hills and glens are lost:

Ne'er sae murky blew the night That drifted o'er the hill, But bonie Peg-a-Ramsay Gat grist to her mill.

Inscription At Friars' Ca.r.s.e Hermitage

To the Memory of Robert Riddell.

To Riddell, much lamented man, This ivied cot was dear; Wandr'er, dost value matchless worth?

This ivied cot revere.

There Was A Bonie La.s.s

There was a bonie la.s.s, and a bonie, bonie la.s.s, And she lo'ed her bonie laddie dear; Till War's loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms, Wi' mony a sigh and tear.

Over sea, over sh.o.r.e, where the cannons loudly roar, He still was a stranger to fear; And nocht could him quail, or his bosom a.s.sail, But the bonie la.s.s he lo'ed sae dear.

Wee Willie Gray

Tune--"Wee Totum Fogg."

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet, Peel a willow wand to be him boots and jacket; The rose upon the breir will be him trews an' doublet, The rose upon the breir will be him trews an' doublet, Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet, Twice a lily-flower will be him sark and cravat; Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet, Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.

O Aye My Wife She Dang Me

Chorus--O aye my wife she dang me, An' aft my wife she bang'd me, If ye gie a woman a' her will, Gude faith! she'll soon o'er-gang ye.

On peace an' rest my mind was bent, And, fool I was! I married; But never honest man's intent Sane cursedly miscarried.

O aye my wife, &c.

Some sairie comfort at the last, When a' thir days are done, man, My pains o' h.e.l.l on earth is past, I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man, O aye my wife, &c.

Gude Ale Keeps The Heart Aboon

Chorus--O gude ale comes and gude ale goes; Gude ale gars me sell my hose, Sell my hose, and p.a.w.n my shoon-- Gude ale keeps my heart aboon!

I had sax owsen in a pleugh, And they drew a' weel eneugh: I sell'd them a' just ane by ane-- Gude ale keeps the heart aboon!

O gude ale comes, &c.

Gude ale hauds me bare and busy, Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie, Stand i' the stool when I hae done-- Gude ale keeps the heart aboon!

O gude ale comes, &c.

O Steer Her Up An' Haud Her Gaun

O steer her up, an' haud her gaun, Her mither's at the mill, jo; An' gin she winna tak a man, E'en let her tak her will, jo.

First sh.o.r.e her wi' a gentle kiss, And ca' anither gill, jo; An' gin she tak the thing amiss, E'en let her flyte her fill, jo.

O steer her up, an' be na blate, An' gin she tak it ill, jo, Then leave the la.s.sie till her fate, And time nae langer spill, jo: Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, But think upon it still, jo: That gin the la.s.sie winna do't, Ye'll find anither will, jo.

The La.s.s O' Ecclefechan