The Complete Works. Robert Burns

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XIV.

       Table of Contents

THE JOLLY BEGGARS.

       Table of Contents

      A CANTATA.

      [This inimitable poem, unknown to Currie and unheardof while the poet lived, was first given to the world, with other characteristic pieces, by Mr. Stewart of Glasgow, in the year 1801. Some have surmised that it is not the work of Burns; but the parentage is certain: the original manuscript at the time of its composition, in 1785, was put into the hands of Mr. Richmond of Mauchline, and afterwards given by Burns himself to Mr. Woodburn, factor of the laird of Craigen-gillan; the song of “For a’ that, and a’ that” was inserted by the poet, with his name, in the Musical Museum of February, 1790. Cromek admired, yet did not, from overruling advice, print it in the Reliques, for which he was sharply censured by Sir Walter Scott, in the Quarterly Review. The scene of the poem is in Mauchline, where Poosie Nancy had her change-house. Only one copy in the handwriting of Burns is supposed to exist; and of it a very accurate fac-simile has been given.]

      RECITATIVO.

      When lyart leaves bestrow the yird,

       Or wavering like the bauckie-bird,

       Bedim cauld Boreas’ blast;

       When hailstanes drive wi’ bitter skyte

       And infant frosts begin to bite,

       In hoary cranreuch drest;

       Ae night at e’en a merry core

       O’ randie, gangrel bodies,

       In Poosie-Nansie’s held the splore,

       To drink their orra duddies:

       Wi’ quaffing and laughing,

       They ranted an’ they sang;

       Wi’ jumping and thumping,

       The vera girdle rang.

      First, neist the fire, in auld red rags,

       Ane sat, weel brac’d wi’ mealy bags,

       And knapsack a’ in order;

       His doxy lay within his arm,

       Wi’ usquebae an’ blankets warm—

       She blinket on her sodger:

       An’ ay he gies the tozie drab

       The tither skelpin’ kiss,

       While she held up her greedy gab

       Just like an aumous dish.

       Ilk smack still, did crack still,

       Just like a cadger’s whip,

       Then staggering and swaggering

       He roar’d this ditty up—

      AIR.

      Tune—“Soldiers’ Joy.”

      I am a son of Mars,

       Who have been in many wars,

       And show my cuts and scars

       Wherever I come;

       This here was for a wench,

       And that other in a trench,

       When welcoming the French

       At the sound of the drum.

       Lal de daudle, &c.

      My ‘prenticeship I past

       Where my leader breath’d his last,

       When the bloody die was cast

       On the heights of Abram;

       I served out my trade

       When the gallant game was play’d,

       And the Moro low was laid

       At the sound of the drum.

       Lal de daudle, &c.

      I lastly was with Curtis,

       Among the floating batt’ries,

       And there I left for witness

       An arm and a limb;

       Yet let my country need me,

       With Elliot to head me,

       I’d clatter on my stumps

       At the sound of a drum.

       Lal de dandle, &c.

      And now tho’ I must beg,

       With a wooden arm and leg,

       And many a tatter’d rag

       Hanging over my bum

       I’m as happy with my wallet,

       My bottle and my callet,

       As when I used in scarlet

       To follow a drum.

       Lal de daudle, &c.

      What tho’ with hoary locks

       I must stand the winter shocks,

       Beneath the woods and rocks

       Oftentimes for a СКАЧАТЬ