THE POEMS OF BURNS.
51
And now I have liv'd—I know not how long,
And still I can join in a cup or a song;
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, etc.
And still I can join in a cup or a song;
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, etc.
RECITATIVO.
Poor Merry Andrew, in the neuk,
Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie;
They mind't na wha the chorus teuk,
Between themselves they were sae bizzy:
At length, wi' drink and courting dizzy,
He stoiter'd up an' made a face;
Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzy,
Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.
Poor Merry Andrew, in the neuk,
Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie;
They mind't na wha the chorus teuk,
Between themselves they were sae bizzy:
At length, wi' drink and courting dizzy,
He stoiter'd up an' made a face;
Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzy,
Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.
AIR.
Tune—'Auld Syr Symon'
Tune—'Auld Syr Symon'
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou,
Sir Knave is a fool in a session;
He's there but a 'prentice I trow,
But I am a fool by profession.
Sir Knave is a fool in a session;
He's there but a 'prentice I trow,
But I am a fool by profession.
My grannie she bought me a beuk,
And I held awa to the school;
I fear I my talent misteuk,
But what will ye hae of a fool?
And I held awa to the school;
I fear I my talent misteuk,
But what will ye hae of a fool?
For drink I would venture my neck;
A hizzie's the half o' my craft;
But what could ye other expect,
Of ane that's avowedly daft?
A hizzie's the half o' my craft;
But what could ye other expect,
Of ane that's avowedly daft?
I ance was ty'd up like a stirk,
For civilly swearing and quaffing;
I ance was abus'd i' the kirk,
For towzing a lass i' my daffin.
For civilly swearing and quaffing;
I ance was abus'd i' the kirk,
For towzing a lass i' my daffin.
Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,
Let naebody name wi' a jeer;
There's ev'n, I'm tauld, i' the court,
A tumbler ca'd the Premier.
Let naebody name wi' a jeer;
There's ev'n, I'm tauld, i' the court,
A tumbler ca'd the Premier.
Observ'd ye yon reverend lad
Maks faces to tickle the mob;
He rails at our mountebank squad—
It's rivalship just i' the job.
Maks faces to tickle the mob;
He rails at our mountebank squad—
It's rivalship just i' the job.
And now my conclusion I'll tell,
For faith I'm confoundedly dry;
The chiel that's a fool for himsel',
Gude Lord, is far dafter than I.
For faith I'm confoundedly dry;
The chiel that's a fool for himsel',
Gude Lord, is far dafter than I.
RECITATIVO.
Then niest outspak a raucle carlin,
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling,
For monie a pursie she had hooked,
And had in monie a well been dooked;
Her dove had been a Highland laddie,
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie!
Wi' sighs and sabs, she thus began
To wail her braw John Highlandman:
Then niest outspak a raucle carlin,
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling,
For monie a pursie she had hooked,
And had in monie a well been dooked;
Her dove had been a Highland laddie,
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie!
Wi' sighs and sabs, she thus began
To wail her braw John Highlandman:
AIR.
Tune—'O, an ye were dead, Guidman'
Tune—'O, an ye were dead, Guidman'
A Highland lad my love was born,
The Lawlan' laws he held in scorn:
But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
The Lawlan' laws he held in scorn:
But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
