The Canongate Burns. Robert Burns
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Spairges about the brunstane cootie, splashes, brimstone dish
To scaud poor wretches! scald
Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, old hangman, while
An’ let poor damnèd bodies be;
I’m sure sma’ pleasure it can gie, give
10 Ev’n to a deil, devil
To skelp an’ scaud poor dogs like me hit/slap, scald
An’ hear us squeel!
Great is thy pow’r an’ great thy fame;
Far kend, an’ noted is thy name; known
15 An’ tho’ yon lowan heugh’s thy hame, moaning, hollow, home
Thou travels far;
An’ faith! thou’s neither lag, nor lame, backward
Nor blate nor scaur. bashful, afraid
Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion, sometimes
20 For prey, a’ holes an’ corners tryin;
Whyles, on the strong-wing’d Tempest flyin,
Tirlan the Kirks; stripping – attacking
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin,
Unseen thou lurks.
25 I’ve heard my rev’rend Graunie say, grannie
In lanely glens ye like to stray; lonely
Or, where auld ruin’d castles grey old
Nod to the moon,
Ye fright the nightly wand’rer’s way
30 Wi’ eldritch croon. unearthly eerie moan
When twilight did my Graunie summon, grannie
To say her pray’rs, douce, honest woman! sober/prudent
Aft yont the dyke she’s heard you bumman, away beyond
Wi’ eerie drone;
35 Or, rustlin, thro’ the boortries coman, alder trees coming
Wi’ heavy groan.
Ae dreary, windy, winter night, one
The stars shot down wi’ sklentan light, slanting
Wi’ you mysel, I gat a fright: got
40 Ayont the lough, beyond, loch
Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, bunch of rushes
Wi’ waving sugh: moan
The cudgel in my nieve did shake, fist
Each bristl’d hair stood like a stake;
45 When wi’ an eldritch, stoor quaick, quaick, unearthly harsh, duck quack
Amang the springs, among
Awa ye squatter’d like a drake, away, a noisy take-off
On whistling wings.
Let Warlocks grim, an’ wither’d Hags,
50 Tell how wi’ you, on ragweed nags, ragwort
They skim the muirs an’ dizzy crags, moors, high peaks
Wi’ wicked speed;
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,
Owre howket dead. over those raised from the grave
55 Thence, countra wives, wi’ toil an’ pain, country
May plunge an’ plunge the kirn in vain; churn
For Och! the yellow treasure’s taen taken
By witching skill;
An’ dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie’s gaen petted, 12-pint cow has gone
60 As yell’s the Bill. dry, bull
Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse
On Young-Guidmen, fond, keen an’ croose; husbands, over confident
When the best warklum i’ the house, work-tool, penis
By cantraip wit, magic/evil
65 Is instant made no worth a louse,
Just at the bit. stopped before ejaculation
When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, thawes, snowy hoard
An’ float the jinglin icy boord, water’s surface
Then, Water-kelpies haunt the foord, imaginary water-spirits, ford
70 By your direction,
An’ nighted Trav’llers are allur’d
To their destruction.
An’ aft your moss-traversing Spunkies often, bog-, demons
Decoy the wight that late an’ drunk is: fellow
75 The bleezan, curst, mischievous monkies
Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, dirty hole
Ne’er mair to rise. more
When MASONS’ mystic word an’ grip
80 In storms an’ tempests raise you up,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, shall
Or, strange to tell!
The youngest Brother ye wad whip would
Aff straught to Hell. off straight
85 Lang syne in Eden’s bonie yard, long ago
When youthfu’ lovers first were pair’d,
An’ all the Soul of Love they shar’d,
The raptur’d hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flow’ry swaird, grassy edge
90 In shady bow’r:
Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog! old, sly door opener
Ye cam to Paradise incog, came, disguised
An’ play’d on man a cursed brogue trick
(Black be your fa’!), fall
95 An’ gied the infant warld a shog, gave, world, shake
’Maist ruin’d a’. almost
D’ye mind that day when in a bizz flurry/bustle
Wi’ reeket duds, an’ reestet gizz, smoky clothes, scorched wig
Ye did present your smoutie phiz smutty face
100 ’Mang better folk;
An’ sklented on the man of Uzz squinted at Job
Your spitefu’ joke?
An’ how ye gat him i’ your thrall, got, spell
An’ brak him out o’ house an’ hal’, broke
105 While scabs an’ blotches did him gall,
Wi’ bitter claw;
An’ lows’d his ill-tongu’d wicked Scawl — slackened, scolding wife
Was warst ava? worst of all
But a’ your doings to rehearse,
110 Your wily snares an’ fechtin fierce, fighting
Sin’ that day MICHAEL did you pierce
Down to this time,
Wad ding