The Canongate Burns. Robert Burns
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15 Mar’s-year: This was the year 1715, when the 11th Earl of Mar, John Erskine (1675–1732) spear-headed the Jacobite revolt to proclaim the Stuart Pretender King.
16 Sowens, with butter instead of milk, to them, is always the Halloween Supper. R.B.
The Auld Farmers New-year Morning Salutation to his Auld Mare, Maggie
on giving her the accustomed ripp of corn to hansel in the new-year
First printed in the Kilmarnock edition, 1786.
A Guid New-Year I wish thee, Maggie!
Hae, there’s a ripp to thy auld baggie: handful, stomach
Tho’ thou’s howe-backit now, an’ knaggie, hollow-backed, knobbly
I’ve seen the day
5 Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie, have gone, any colt
Out-owre the lay. -over, lea
Tho’ now thou’s dowie, stiff, an’ crazy, drooping
An’ thy auld hide as white’s a daisie, old
I’ve seen thee dappl’t, sleek an’ glaizie, glossy
10 A bonie gray:
He should been tight that daur’t to raize thee, able, dared, excite
Ance in a day. once
Thou ance was i’ the foremost rank, once
A filly buirdly, steeve, an’ swank; strong, trim, stately
15 An’ set weel down a shapely shank well, leg
As e’er tread yird; earth
An’ could hae flown out-owre a stank have, -over, ditch
Like onie bird. any
It’s now some nine-an’-twenty year
20 Sin’ thou was my Guidfather’s Meere; father-in-law’s, mare
He gied me thee, o’ tocher clear, gave, dowry
An’ fifty mark; a coin worth 13s 4d
Tho’ it was sma’,’ twas weel-won gear, small, well-won money
An’ thou was stark. strong
25 When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, went
Ye then was trottan wi’ your Minnie: mother
Tho’ ye was trickie, slee, an’ funnie, difficult, sly
Ye ne’er was donsie; mischievous
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an’ cannie, homely, placid, docile
30 An’ unco sonsie. very good-natured
That day, ye pranc’d wi’ muckle pride, great
When ye bure hame my bonie Bride: bore/carried home
An’ sweet an’ gracefu’ she did ride,
Wi’ maiden air!
35 KYLE-STEWART I could bragged wide, boasted the district over
For sic a pair. such
Tho’ now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, can, limp, stumble
An’ wintle like a saumont-coble, twist, salmon-boat
That day, ye was a jinker noble, runner
40 For heels an’ win’! wind
An’ ran them till they a’ did wauble, wobble
Far, far behin’!
When thou an’ I were young and skiegh, proud/fiery
An’ Stable-meals at Fairs were driegh, tedious
45 How thou wad prance, an’ snore, an’ scriegh, would, snort, whinny
An’ tak the road!
Town’s-bodies ran, an’ stood abiegh, out of the way
An’ ca’t thee mad. called
When thou was corn’t, an’ I was mellow, fed
50 We took the road ay like a Swallow:
At Brooses thou had ne’er a fellow, a horse race at a wedding
For pith an’ speed;
But ev’ry tail thou pay’t them hollow, beat
Whare’er thou gaed. went
55 The sma’, droop-rumpl’t, hunter cattle small, short-rumped
Might aiblins waur’t thee for a brattle; perhaps beat, short race
But sax Scotch mile thou try’t their mettle, six
An’ gar’t them whaizle: made, wheeze
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle no, stick
60 O’ saugh or hazle. willow, hazel
Thou was a noble Fittie-lan’, back left-hand plough horse
As e’er in tug or tow was drawn!
Aft thee an’ I, in aught hours’ gaun, often, any, going
On guid March-weather, good
65 Hae turn’d sax rood beside our han’ have, six quarter acres
For days thegither. together
Thou never braing’t, an’ fetch’t, an’ flisket; plunged, stalled, capered
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whisket, old, would have lashed
An’ spread abreed thy weel-fill’d brisket, across to, breast
70 Wi’ pith an’ pow’r;
Till sprittie knowes wad rair’t, an’ risket, rush-covered knolls were cracked and ripped
An’ slypet owre. smashed over (by plough)
When frosts lay lang, an’ snaws were deep, long, snows
An’ threaten’d labour back to keep,
75 I gied thy cog a wee bit heap gave, feed measure
Aboon the timmer: above the rim
I ken’d my Maggie wad na sleep knew, would not
For that, or Simmer. before summer
In cart or car thou never reestet; baulked
80 The steyest brae thou wad hae fac’t it; steepest hill, would have
Thou never lap, an’ sten’t, an’ breastet, leaped, reared
Then stood to blaw; puff for air
But just thy step a wee thing hastet, a little shortened
Thou snoov’t awa. pushed away
85 My Pleugh is now thy bairn-time a’, my plough-team is your offspring
Four gallant brutes as e’er did draw;
Forbye sax mae I’ve sell’t awa, six more, sold away
That thou hast nurst: nursed
They drew me thretteen pund an’ twa, thirteen pound, two
90 The vera warst.
Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, many, sore day’s work, two, have
An’ wi’ the weary warl’ fought! world