The Complete Works of Robert Burns Part 10

RECITATIVO.

A pigmy sc.r.a.per, wi' his fiddle, Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle, Her strappan limb and gausy middle He reach'd na higher, Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, An' blawn't on fire.

Wi' hand on hainch, an' upward e'e, He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, Then in an Arioso key, The wee Apollo Set off wi' Allegretto glee His giga solo.

AIR.

Tune--"_Whistle o'er the lave o't._"

Let me ryke up to dight that tear, And go wi' me and be my dear, And then your every care and fear May whistle owre the lave o't.

CHORUS.

I am a fiddler to my trade, An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd, The sweetest still to wife or maid, Was whistle owre the lave o't.

At kirns and weddings we'se be there, And O! sae nicely's we will fare; We'll house about till Daddie Care Sings whistle owre the lave o't I am, &c.

Sae merrily the banes we'll byke, And sun oursells about the d.y.k.e, And at our leisure, when ye like, We'll whistle owre the lave o't.

I am, &c.

But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, And while I kittle hair on thairms, Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms, May whistle owre the lave o't.

I am, &c.

RECITATIVO.

Her charms had struck a st.u.r.dy caird, As weel as poor gut-sc.r.a.per; He taks the fiddler by the beard, And draws a roosty rapier-- He swoor by a' was swearing worth, To speet him like a pliver, Unless he wad from that time forth Relinquish her for ever.

Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee Upon his hunkers bended, And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, And sae the quarrel ended.

But tho' his little heart did grieve When round the tinkler prest her, He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, When thus the caird address'd her:

AIR.

Tune--"_Clout the Caudron._"

My bonny la.s.s, I work in bra.s.s, A tinkler is my station: I've travell'd round all Christian ground In this my occupation: I've taen the gold, an' been enrolled In many a n.o.ble sqadron: But vain they search'd, when off I march'd To go and clout the caudron.

I've taen the gold, &c.

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, Wi' a' his noise and caprin, And tak a share wi' those that bear The budget and the ap.r.o.n.

And by that stoup, my faith and houp, An' by that dear Kilbaigie,[5]

If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, May I ne'er weet my craigie.

An' by that stoup, &c.

RECITATIVO.

The caird prevail'd--th' unblushing fair In his embraces sunk, Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, An' partly she was drunk.

Sir Violino, with an air That show'd a man of s.p.u.n.k, Wish'd unison between the pair, An' made the bottle clunk To their health that night.

But urchin Cupid shot a shaft, That play'd a dame a shavie, A sailor rak'd her fore and aft, Behint the chicken cavie.

Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft, Tho' limping wi' the spavie, He hirpl'd up and lap like daft, And shor'd them Dainty Davie O boot that night.

He was a care-defying blade As ever Bacchus listed, Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, His heart she ever miss'd it.

He had nae wish but--to be glad, Nor want but--when he thirsted; He hated nought but--to be sad, And thus the Muse suggested His sang that night.

AIR

Tune--"_For a' that, an' a' that._"

I am a bard of no regard Wi' gentle folks, an' a' that: But Homer-like, the glowran byke, Frae town to town I draw that.

CHORUS

For a' that, an' a' that, An' twice as muckle's a' that; I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', I've wife enough for a' that.

I never drank the Muses' stank, Castalia's burn, an' a' that; But there it streams, and richly reams, My Helicon I ca' that.

For a' that, &c.

Great love I bear to a' the fair, Their humble slave, an' a' that; But lordly will, I hold it still A mortal sin to thraw that.

For a' that, &c.

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, Wi' mutual love, an a' that: But for how lang the flie may stang, Let inclination law that.

For a' that, &c.

Their tricks and craft have put me daft.

They've ta'en me in, and a' that; But clear your decks, and here's the s.e.x!

I like the jads for a' that

CHORUS

For a' that, an' a' that, An' twice as muckle's a' that; My dearest bluid, to do them guid, They're welcome till't for a' that

RECITATIVO

So sung the bard--and Nansie's wa's Shook with a thunder of applause, Re-echo'd from each mouth: They toom'd their pocks, an' p.a.w.n'd their duds, They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, To quench their lowan drouth.

Then owre again, the jovial thrang, The poet did request, To loose his pack an' wale a sang, A ballad o' the best; He rising, rejoicing, Between his twa Deborahs Looks round him, an' found them Impatient for the chorus.

AIR

Tune--"_Jolly Mortals, fill your Gla.s.ses._"

See! the smoking bowl before us, Mark our jovial ragged ring!

Round and round take up the chorus, And in raptures let us sing.

CHORUS.

A fig for those by law protected!

Liberty's a glorious feast!

Courts for cowards were erected, Churches built to please the priest.

What is t.i.tle? what is treasure?