The Canongate Burns. Robert Burns
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grumble
Speak out, an’ never fash your thumb! trouble yourself
Let posts an’ pensions sink or soom swim
Wi’ them wha grant ’em: who
If honestly they canna come, cannot
30 Far better want ’em. lack them
In gath’rin votes you were na slack; not lazy
Now stand as tightly by your tack:
Ne’er claw your lug, an’ fidge your back, scratch your ear, shrug
An’ hum an haw;
35 But raise your arm, an’ tell your crack tale
Before them a’.
Paint Scotland greetan owre her thrissle; weeping, over, thistle
Her mutchkin stowp as toom’s a whissle; pint-pot, empty as a whistle
An’ damn’d Excise-men in a bustle,
40 Seizin a Stell, still
Triumphant, crushan’t like a mussel,
Or laimpet shell. limpet
Then on the tither hand present her, other
A blackguard Smuggler right behint her,
45 An’ cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner cheek-by-jowl, fat faced
Colleaguing join, —
Pickin her pouch as bare as Winter pocket
Of a’ kind coin.
Is there, that bears the name o’ SCOT,
50 But feels his heart’s bluid rising hot, blood
To see his poor auld Mither’s pot old mother’s
Thus dung in staves, broken in pieces
An’ plunder’d o’ her hindmost groat, last coin
By gallows knaves?
55 Alas! I’m but a nameless wight,
Trode i’ the mire out o’ sight!
But could I like MONTGOMERIES fight,
Or gab like BOSWELL, talk
There’s some sark-necks I wad draw tight, shirt-necks, would
60 An’ tye some hose well. tie
God bless your Honors! can ye see’t,
The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, old, jolly, wife weep
An’ no get warmly to your feet,
An’ gar them hear it, make
65 An’ tell them wi’ a patriot-heat, Scottish passion
Ye winna bear it? will not
Some o’ you nicely ken the laws, know
To round the period an’ pause,
An’ with rhetoric clause on clause
70 To mak harangues;
Then echo thro’ Saint Stephen’s wa’s Parliament’s walls
Auld Scotland’s wrangs. old, wrongs
Dempster,1 a true blue Scot I’se warran; I’ll warrant
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran;2 oath
75 An’ that glib-gabbet Highland Baron, quick-tongued
The Laird o’ Graham;3
An’ ane, a chap that’s damn’d auldfarran, one, shrewd
Dundass4 his name:
Erskine,5 a spunkie Norland billie; spirited Northern young man
80 True Campbells, Frederick an’ Ilay;6
An’ Livistone, the bauld Sir Willie;7 bold
An’ mony ithers, many others
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully8 old
Might own for brithers. brothers
85 Thee sodger Hugh, my watchman stented,9 soldier, assigned (M.P.)
If Bardies e’er are represented;
I ken if that your sword were wanted, know
Ye’d lend your hand;
But when there’s ought to say anent it, about
90 Ye’re at a stand.
Arouse my boys! exert your mettle,
To get auld Scotland back her kettle! old, whisky still
Or faith! I’ll wad my new pleugh-pettle, wager, plough scraper
Ye’ll see’t or lang, before long
95 She’ll teach you, wi’ a reekan whittle, smoking knife
Anither sang. another song
This while she’s been in crankous mood, fretful
Her lost Militia fir’d her bluid; blood
(Deil na they never mair do guid, not, more, good
100 Play’d her that pliskie!) trick
An’ now she’s like to rin red-wud run stark mad
About her Whisky.
An’ Lord! if ance they pit her till’t, once, put her to it
Her tartan petticoat she’ll kilt, tuck up
105 An’ durk an’ pistol at her belt, blade
She’ll tak the streets,
An’ rin her whittle to the hilt, run her knife, handle
I’ the first she meets!
For God-sake, Sirs! then speak her fair,
110 An’ straik her cannie wi’ the hair, stroke, carefully
An’ to the Muckle House repair, great Parliament
Wi’ instant speed,
An’ strive, wi’ a’ your Wit an’ Lear, knowledge
To get remead.
115 Yon ill-tongu’d tinkler, Charlie Fox,10 gypsy
May taunt you wi’ his jeers an’ mocks;
But gie him’t het, my hearty cocks! give him it hot
E’en cowe the cadie! subdue, rascal
An’ send him to his dicing box
120 An’ sportin lady.
Tell yon guid bluid of auld Boconnock’s,11