Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns Part 111

Whae'er shall say I wanted grace, When I did kiss and dawte her, Let him be planted in my place, Syne say, I was the fautor.

Could I for shame, could I for shame, Could I for shame refus'd her; And wadna manhood been to blame, Had I unkindly used her!

He claw'd her wi' the ripplin-kame, And blae and bluidy bruis'd her; When sic a husband was frae hame, What wife but wad excus'd her!

I dighted aye her e'en sae blue, An' bann'd the cruel randy, And weel I wat, her willin' mou Was sweet as sugar-candie.

At gloamin-shot, it was I wot, I lighted on the Monday; But I cam thro' the Tyseday's dew, To wanton Willie's brandy.

Does Haughty Gaul Invasion Threat?

Tune--"Push about the Jorum."

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat?

Then let the louns beware, Sir; There's wooden walls upon our seas, And volunteers on sh.o.r.e, Sir: The Nith shall run to Corsincon, And Criffel sink in Solway, Ere we permit a Foreign Foe On British ground to rally!

We'll ne'er permit a Foreign Foe On British ground to rally!

O let us not, like snarling curs, In wrangling be divided, Till, slap! come in an unco loun, And wi' a rung decide it!

Be Britain still to Britain true, Amang ourselves united; For never but by British hands Maun British wrangs be righted!

No! never but by British hands Shall British wrangs be righted!

The Kettle o' the Kirk and State, Perhaps a clout may fail in't; But deil a foreign tinkler loun Shall ever ca'a nail in't.

Our father's blude the Kettle bought, And wha wad dare to spoil it; By Heav'ns! the sacrilegious dog Shall fuel be to boil it!

By Heav'ns! the sacrilegious dog Shall fuel be to boil it!

The wretch that would a tyrant own, And the wretch, his true-born brother, Who would set the Mob aboon the Throne, May they be d.a.m.n'd together!

Who will not sing "G.o.d save the King,"

Shall hang as high's the steeple; But while we sing "G.o.d save the King,"

We'll ne'er forget The People!

But while we sing "G.o.d save the King,"

We'll ne'er forget The People!

Address To The Woodlark

Tune--"Loch Erroch Side."

O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining.

Again, again that tender part, That I may catch thy melting art; For surely that wad touch her heart Wha kills me wi' disdaining.

Say, was thy little mate unkind, And heard thee as the careless wind?

Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, Sic notes o' woe could wauken!

Thou tells o' never-ending care; O'speechless grief, and dark despair: For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!

Or my poor heart is broken.

Song.--On Chloris Being Ill

Tune--"Aye wauken O."

Chorus--Long, long the night, Heavy comes the morrow While my soul's delight Is on her bed of sorrow.

Can I cease to care?

Can I cease to languish, While my darling Fair Is on the couch of anguish?

Long, long, &c.

Ev'ry hope is fled, Ev'ry fear is terror, Slumber ev'n I dread, Ev'ry dream is horror.

Long, long, &c.

Hear me, Powers Divine!

Oh, in pity, hear me!

Take aught else of mine, But my Chloris spare me!

Long, long, &c.

How Cruel Are The Parents

Altered from an old English song.

Tune--"John Anderson, my jo."

How cruel are the parents Who riches only prize, And to the wealthy b.o.o.by Poor Woman sacrifice!

Meanwhile, the hapless Daughter Has but a choice of strife; To shun a tyrant Father's hate-- Become a wretched Wife.

The ravening hawk pursuing, The trembling dove thus flies, To shun impelling ruin, Awhile her pinions tries; Till, of escape despairing, No shelter or retreat, She trusts the ruthless Falconer, And drops beneath his feet.

Mark Yonder Pomp Of Costly Fashion

Air--"Deil tak the wars."

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion Round the wealthy, t.i.tled bride: But when compar'd with real pa.s.sion, Poor is all that princely pride.

Mark yonder, &c. (four lines repeated).