Robert Burns

(1759-1796)
 

For a’ That and a’ That

Is there for honest poverty
That hangs his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave, we pass him by
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Our toil's obscure and a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine
Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine
A man's a man, for a' that:
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their tinsel show an' a' that,
The honest man, though e'er sae poor
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord
Wha struts an' stares an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word
He's but a coof for a' that;
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star and a' that,
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak' a belted knight,
A marquise, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that,
The pith o' sense an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank that a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(as come it will for a' that),
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree an' a' that.
For a' that an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That man to man, the world o'er
Shall brithers be for a' that

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                                        John Anderson, My Jo
 

John Anderson, my jo, John,
    When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
    Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
    Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
    John Anderson, my jo!

John Anderson, my jo, John,
    We clamb the hill thegither;
And monie a canty day, John,
    We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
    But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
    John Anderson, my jo.

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Flow Sweetly, Sweet Afton

Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
    Though stock-dove whose echo resounds from the hill
    Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny dell
Thou green created lapwing, thy screaming for bear
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills
Far marked with the courses of clear winding rills
There daily I wander, as morn rises high
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
    How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below
    Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow
There oft, as mild evening creeps over the lea
The sweet scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave
As gathering sweet flow'rets, she stems thy clear wave.
    Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes
    Flow gently , sweet river, the theme of my lays
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

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Holy Willie’s Prayer

O Thou, who in the heavens does dwell,

     Who, as it pleases best Thysel',

     Sends ane to heaven an' ten to hell,

                         A' for Thy glory,

     And no for ony gude or ill

                         They've done afore Thee!

     I bless and praise Thy matchless might,

     When thousands Thou hast left in night,

     That I am here afore Thy sight,

                         For gifts an' grace

     A burning and a shining light

                         To a' this place.

     What was I, or my generation,

     That I should get sic˚ exaltation,                         such

     I wha˚ deserve most just damnation                         who

                         For broken laws,

     Five thousand years ere my creation,

                         Thro' Adam's cause?

     When frae˚ my mither's womb I fell,                         from

     Thou might hae˚ plunged me in hell,                         have

     To gnash my gums, to weep and wail,

                         In burnin lakes,

     Where damnéd devils roar and yell,

                         Chain'd to their stakes.

     Yet I am here a chosen sample,

     To show thy grace is great and ample;

     I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,

                         Strong as a rock,

     A guide, a buckler, and example,

                         To a' Thy flock.

     O Lord, Thou kens˚ what zeal I bear,                         know

     When drinkers drink, an' swearers swear,

     An' singin there, an' dancin here,

                         Wi' great and sma';

     For I am keepit by Thy fear

                         Free frae them a'.

     But yet, O Lord! confess I must,

     At times I'm fash'd˚ wi' fleshly lust:                         troubled

     An' sometimes, too, wi’ wardly˚ trust,                         worldly

                         Vile self gets in:

     But Thou remembers we are dust,

                         Defil'd wi' sin.

     O Lord! yestreen˚, Thou kens, wi' Meg—                         yesterday evening

     Thy pardon I sincerely beg,

     O! may't ne'er be a livin’ plague

                         To my dishonour,

     An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg

                         Again upon her.

     Besides, I farther maun˚ allow,                         must

     Wi' Leezie's lass, three times I trow˚—                         believe

     But Lord, that Friday I was fou˚,                         drunk

                         When I cam near her;

     Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true

                         Wad˚ never steer˚ her.                         would / touch

     Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn

     Buffet Thy servant e'en˚ and morn,                         evening

     Lest he owre˚ proud and high shou'd turn,                         over

                         That he's sae gifted:

     If sae, Thy han' maun e'en˚ be borne,                         even

                         Until Thou lift it.

     Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,

     For here Thou hast a chosen race:

     But God confound their stubborn face,

                         An' blast their name,

     Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace

                         An' public shame.

     Lord, mind˚ Gaw'n Hamilton's deserts;                         remember

     He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes˚,                         cards

     Yet has sae mony˚ takin arts,                         many

                         Wi' great and sma',

     Frae God's ain˚ priest the people's hearts                         own

                         He steals awa˚.                         away

     An' when we chasten'd him therefor,

     Thou kens how he bred sic a splore˚,                         a frolic, a riot

     An' set the warld in a roar

                         O' laughing at us;—

     Curse Thou his basket and his store,

                         Kail an' potatoes.

     Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r,

     Against that Presbyt'ry o' Ayr;

     Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare

                         Upo' their heads;

     Lord visit them, an' dinna˚ spare,                         do not

                         For their misdeeds.

     O Lord, my God! that glib-tongu'd Aiken,

     My very heart and flesh are quakin,

     To think how we stood sweatin', shakin,

                         An' piss'd wi' dread,

     While he, wi' hingin˚ lip an' snakin,                         hanging

                         Held up his head.

     Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him,

     Lord, visit them wha did employ him,

     And pass not in Thy mercy by 'em,

                         Nor hear their pray'r,

     But for Thy people's sake, destroy 'em,

                         An' dinna spare.

     But, Lord, remember me an' mine

     Wi' mercies temp'ral an' divine,

     That I for grace an' gear˚ may shine,                         wealth

                         Excell'd by nane˚,                         none

     And a' the glory shall be thine,

                         Amen, Amen!

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        My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose

O my Luve 's like a red, red rose
    That 's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve 's like the melodie
    That's sweetly play'd in tune!

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
    So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
    Till a' the seas gang˚ dry:                         go

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
    And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
    While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel˚, my only Luve,                         well
    And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
    Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

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To A Louse
On seeing one on a lady's bonnet at church.

Ha! Whare ye gaun˚, ye crowlin˚ ferli˚?                         going / crawling / wonder
Your impudence protects you sairly˚,                         sorely
I canna say but ye strut rarely

Owre˚ gauze and lace,                         over
Tho' faith! I fear ye dine but sparely

On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit˚ wonner˚,                         worthless / wonder

Detested, shunn'd by saunt˚ an' sinner,                         saint
How daur˚ ye set your fit upon her --                         dare

Sae fine a lady!
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner

On some poor body.

Swith˚! in some beggar's hauffet˚ squattle˚:                         swift / the side of the  
There you may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle˚                         head / settle / scramble
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,                        

In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane˚ ne'er daur˚ unsettle                         bone (referring to a comb) / dare

Your thick plantations.                               

Now haud you there! ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils˚, snug an' tight;                         ribbon ends
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right,

Till ye've got on it ---
The vera˚ tapmost˚, tow'ring height                         very / topmost

O' miss's bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld˚ ye set your nose out                         bold
As plump an' grey as onie grozet˚:                         gooseberry
O for some rank, mercurial rozet˚,                         rosin

Or fell˚, red smeddum˚,                         biting / powder
I'd gie˚ ye sic a hearty dose o't˚,                         give / of it

Wad dress your droddum˚!                         buttocks

I wad na˚ been surpris'd to spy                         not
You on an auld wife's flainen˚ toy˚:                         flannel / head-dress, cap
Or aiblins˚ some bit duddie˚ boy,                         perhaps / ragged

On's wyliecoat˚;                         undervest
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fye!

How daur ye do't.

O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread˚!                         abroad
You little ken what cursed speed

The blastie's˚ makin!                         blasted (i.e. damned)
Thae˚ winks an' finger-ends, I dread,                         creature / those

Are notice takin'!                                  

O wad some Power the giftie˚ gie us                         diminutive of gift
To see oursels as ithers˚ see us!                         others
It wad frae˚ monie a blunder free us,                         from

An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,

An' ev'n devotion!

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To a Mouse

On turning her up in her nest with the plough, November 1785.

Wee, sleekit˚, cowrin˚, tim'rous beastie,                         sleek / cowering
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na˚ start awa sae˚ hasty                         not / so

Wi bickering˚ brattle˚!                         hurrying / scamper

I wad˚ be laith˚ to rin˚ an' chase thee,                         would / loath / run

Wi' murdering pattle˚.                         plow-staff

 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion

Which makes thee startle,

At me, thy poor, earth born companion

An' fellow mortal!

 

I doubt na, whyles˚, but thou may thieve;                         sometimes
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker˚ in a thrave˚                         a corn-ear now and then / shock

'S a sma' request;

I'll get a blessin wi' the lave˚,                         rest

An' never miss't.

 

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly˚ wa's˚ the win's˚ are strewin!                         frail / walls / winds
An' naething, now, to big˚ a new ane˚,                         build / one

O' foggage˚ green!                         grass

An' bleak December's win's ensuin,

Baith˚ snell˚ an' keen!                         both / bitter

 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel coulter˚ past                         plow-blade

Out thro' thy cell.

 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble˚,                         stubble
Has cost thee monie˚ a weary nibble!                         many
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,

But˚ house or hald˚,                         without / possession

To thole˚ the winter's sleety dribble˚,                         endure / drizzle

                        An' cranreuch˚ cauld˚.                         hoar-frost / cold

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane˚,                         not alone
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men

Gang aft agley˚,                         go often awry

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,

For promis'd joy!

Still thou are blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e'e˚,                         eye

On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' I canna˚ see,                         can not

I guess an' fear!

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