The Canongate Burns. Robert Burns

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СКАЧАТЬ I own it’s past my comprehension.

      LUATH

      Trowth, Caesar, whyles they’re fash’d eneugh: sometimes, bothered

      A Cotter howckan in a sheugh, farm labourer, digging, ditch

      Wi’ dirty stanes biggan a dyke, stones, building, stone wall

      Bairan a quarry, an’ sic like, clearing, such

      75 Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains,

      A smytrie o’ wee duddie weans, number, small ragged children

      An’ nought but his han’-daurk, to keep hands’ work

      Them right an’ tight in thack an’ raep. snug, thatch, rope

      An’ when they meet wi’ sair disasters, sore

      80 Like loss o’ health or want o’ masters,

      Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, most would, longer

      An’ they maun starve o’ cauld and hunger: should, cold

      But how it comes, I never kend yet, knew

      They’re maistly wonderfu’ contented; mostly

      85 An’ buirdly chiels, an’ clever hizzies, stout lads, girls

      Are bred in sic a way as this is. such

      CAESAR

      But then to see how ye’re neglecket, neglected

      How huff’d, an’ cuff’d, an’ disrespecket! scolded, slapped, disrespected

      Lord man, our gentry care as little

      90 For delvers, ditchers, an’ sic cattle; labourers, diggers, such

      They gang as saucy by poor folk, go, smugly

      As I wad by a stinkan brock. would, badger

I’ve notic’d, on our Laird’s court-day,2

      (An’ monie a time my heart’s been wae), many, sad

      95 Poor tenant bodies, scant o’ cash, short of money

How they maun thole a Factor’s snash:3 would suffer, abuse

      He’ll stamp an’ threaten, curse an’ swear

      He’ll apprehend them, poind their gear; seize & sell their goods

      While they maun staun’, wi’ aspect humble, must stand

      100 An’ hear it a’, an’ fear an’ tremble! all

      I see how folk live that hae riches; have

      But surely poor-folk maun be wretches! must

      LUATH

      They’re nae sae wretched’s ane wad think: not so, as one would

      Tho’ constantly on poortith’s brink, poverty’s

      105 They’re sae accustom’d wi’ the sight, so

      The view o’t gies them little fright. gives

      Then chance an’ fortune are sae guided, so

      They’re ay in less or mair provided; always, more

      An’ tho’ fatigu’d wi’ close employment,

      110 A blink o’ rest’s a sweet enjoyment.

      The dearest comfort o’ their lives,

      Their grushie weans an’ faithfu’ wives; thriving children

      The prattling things are just their pride,

      That sweetens a’ their fire-side.

      115 An’ whyles twalpennie worth o’ nappy sometimes, ale

      Can mak the bodies unco happy: folk, very

      They lay aside their private cares,

      To mind the Kirk an’ State affairs;

      They’ll talk o’ patronage an’ priests,

      120 Wi’ kindling fury i’ their breasts,

      Or tell what new taxation’s comin,

      An’ ferlie at the folk in LON’ON. wonder

      As bleak-fac’d Hallowmass returns, festival of All-Saints

      They get the jovial, rantan Kirns, harvest homes

      125 When rural life, of ev’ry station,

      Unite in common recreation;

      Love blinks, Wit slaps, an’ social Mirth

      Forgets there’s Care upo’ the earth.

      That merry day the year begins,

      130 They bar the door on frosty win’s; winds

      The nappy reeks wi’ mantling ream, ale, foaming froth

      An’ sheds a heart-inspiring steam;

      The luntan pipe, an’ sneeshin mill, smoking, snuff box

      Are handed round wi’ right guid will; good

      135 The cantie, auld folks, crackan crouse, jolly old, chatting, cheerful

      The young anes rantan thro’ the house — one, running

      My heart has been sae fain to see them, so content

      That I for joy hae barket wi’ them. have barked

      Still it’s owre true that ye hae said over, have

      140 Sic game is now owre aften play’d; such a, over often

      There’s monie a creditable stock many

      O’ decent, honest, fawsont folk, respectable

      Are riven out baith root an’ branch, thrown out by force, both

      Some rascal’s pridefu’ greed to quench,

      145 Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster who

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