Page:Beauties of Burn's poems.pdf/31

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CÆSAR.
L—d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am,
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em.
It's true, they needna starve or sweat,
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat;
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes,
And fill auld age wi' grips and granes:
But human bodies are sic fools,
For a' their colleges and schools,
That when nae real ill perplex them,
They mak enow themselves to vex them;
And aye the less they hae to sturt them,
In like proportion less will hurt them.
A country fellow at the plough,
His acre's till'd, he's right enough:
A country lassie at her wheel,
Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel:
But Gentlemen and Ladies warst,
Wi' ev'ndown want of wark are curst!
They loiter, lounging, lank and lazy,
Tho' deil haet ails then, yet uneasy.
Their days insipid, dull and tasteless:
Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless;
And ev'n their sports, their balls and races,
Their galloping through public places,
There's sic parade, sic pomp and art,
The joy can scarcely reach the heart.
The men cast out in party-matches,
Then souther a' in deep debauches!
Ae night they're mad wi' drink and whoring,
Niest day their life is past enduring.
The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters,
As great and gracious a' as sisters;