The Poetical Works of Robert Burns/The Jolly Beggars

by Robert Burns

THE JOLLY BEGGARS.

A CANTATA.

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 and they sang,
⁠Wi' jumping and thumping,
⁠The verra 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 blinkit on her sodger;
An' aye 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 whup;
Then staggering and swaggering,
⁠He roar'd this ditty up—

 

AIR.
Tune—'Soldier's 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, etc.  

My 'prenticeship I pass'd where my leader breath'd his last,
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram;
I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was play'd,
And the Morro low was laid at the sound of the drum.
Lal de daudle, etc.  

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 daudle, etc. 

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, etc. 

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks,
Beneath the woods and rocks, oftentimes for a home;
When the t'other bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell,
I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of a drum.

 

RECITATIVO.
He ended; and the kebars sheuk
⁠Aboon the chorus roar;
While frighted rattons backward leuk,
⁠And seek the benmost bore:
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk,
⁠He skirl'd out encore!
But up arose the martial chuck,
⁠And laid the loud uproar.

 

AIR.
Tune—'Sodger Laddie'

I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when,
And still my delight is in proper young men;
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie,
Sing, Lal de lal, etc.  

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,
Transported I was with my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, etc. 

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,
So the sword I forsook for the sake of the church;
He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the body,
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, etc. 

Full soon I grew sick of the sanctified sot,
The regiment at large for a husband I got;
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,
I asked no more but a sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, etc. 

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair,
Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair;
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy,
My heart it rejoic'd at a sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, etc. 

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. 

 

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.

 

AIR.
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.

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?

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

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:

 

AIR.
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.

CHORUS.
Sing, hey, my braw John Highlandman!
Sing, ho, my braw John Highlandman!
There's no a lad in a' the lan'
Was match for my John Highlandman.

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid,
An' gude claymore down by his side,
The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey, etc.  

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,
An' liv'd like lords an' ladies gay;
For a Lalland face he feared none, —
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey, etc.  

They banish'd him beyond the sea,
But ere the bud was on the tree,
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
Embracing my John Highlandman.
Sing hey, etc. 

But, oh! they catch'd him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast;
My curse upon them every ane,
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman!
Sing hey, etc. 

And now a widow, I must mourn
The pleasures that will ne'er return;
No comfort but a hearty can,
When I think on John Highlandman.
Sing hey, etc. 

RECITATIVO.
A pigmy Scraper wi' his fiddle,
Wha us'd at trystes and fairs to driddle,
Her strappin limb and gaucy middle
⁠(He reach'd nae higher),
Had hol't his heartie like a riddle,
⁠And blawn't on fire.

Wi' hand on haunch, and upward e'e,
He croon'd his gamut, ane, twa, three,
Then in an Arioso key,
⁠The wee Apollo
Set aff, wi' Allegretto glee,
⁠His giga solo.

AIR.
Tune—'Whistle owre the lave o't.'

Let me ryke up to dight that tear,
And go wi' me and be my dear,
And then your every care and fear
⁠May whistle owre the lave o't.

CHORUS.
⁠I am a fiddler to my trade,
⁠And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd,
⁠The sweetest still to wife or maid,
⁠Was whistle owre the lave o't.

At kirns and weddings we'se be there,
And oh! sae nicely's we will fare;
We'll bouse about, till Daddie Care
⁠Sing whistle owre the lave o't.
I am, etc.  

Sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke,
And sun oursels about the dyke,
And at our leisure, when ye like,
⁠We'll whistle owre the lave o't.
I am, etc. 

But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms,
And while I kittle hair on thairms,
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms,
⁠May whistle owre the lave o't.
I am, etc. 

RECITATIVO.
Her charms had struck a sturdy Caird,
⁠As well as poor Gut-scraper;
He taks the fiddler by the beard,
⁠And draws a roosty rapier—

He swoor, by a' was swearing worth,
⁠To spit him like a pliver,
Unless he wad from that time forth
⁠Relinquish her for ever.

Wi' ghastly ee, poor tweedle-dee
⁠Upon his hunkers bended,
And pray'd for grace, wi' ruefu' face,
⁠And sae the quarrel ended.

But tho' his little heart did grieve
⁠When round the tinkler prest her,
He feigned to snirtle in his sleeve,
⁠When thus the Caird address'd her:

AIR.
Tune—'Clout the Cauldron.'

My bonnie lass, I work in brass,
⁠A tinkler is my station;
I've travell'd round all Christian ground
⁠In this my occupation;
I've taen the gold, I've been enroll'd
⁠In many a noble squadron;
But vain they search'd when off I march'd
⁠To go and clout the cauldron.
⁠I've ta'en the gold, etc.

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,
⁠Wi' a' his noise an' cap'rin',
And tak a share wi' those that bear
⁠The budget and the apron;
And by that stowp, my faith and houp,
⁠And by that dear Kilbagie,
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,
⁠May I ne'er weet my craigie.
⁠And by that stoup, etc.

RECITATIVO.

The Caird prevail'd—th' unblushing fair
⁠In his embraces sunk,
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,
⁠And partly she was drunk.
Sir Violino, with an air
⁠That show'd a man o' spunk,
Wish'd unison between the pair,
⁠And made the bottle clunk
⁠To their health that night.

But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft
⁠That play'd a dame a shavie,
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft,
⁠Behint the chicken cavie.
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,
⁠Tho' limpin wi' the spavie,
He hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft,
⁠And shor'd them Dainty Davie
⁠O boot that night.

He was a care-defying blade
⁠As ever Bacchus listed,
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid,
⁠His heart she ever miss'd it.
He had nae wish, but—to be glad,
⁠Nor want but—when he thirsted,
He hated nought but—to be sad,
⁠And thus the Muse suggested
⁠His sang that night.

AIR.

Tune—'For a' that, and a' that.'
I am a bard of no regard
⁠Wi' gentlefolks, an' a' that;
But Homer-like, the glowran byke,
⁠Frae town to town I draw that.

CHORUS.

⁠For a' that, and a' that,
⁠And twice as meikle's a' that;
⁠I've lost but ane, I've twa behin',
⁠I've wife eneugh for a' that.

I never drank the Muses' stank,
⁠Castalia's burn, an' a' that;
But there it streams and richly reams,
⁠My Helicon I ca' that.
⁠For a' that, etc.

Great love Idbear to a' the fair,
⁠Their humble slave an' a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
⁠A mortal sin to thraw that.
⁠For a' that, etc.

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet,
⁠Wi' mutual love an' a' that;
But for how lang the flie may stang,
⁠Let inclination law that.
⁠For a' that, etc.

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft,
⁠They've ta'en me in, and a' that;
But clear your decks, and "Here's the Sex!"
⁠I like the jads for a' that.

⁠For a' that, and a' that,
⁠And twice as meikle's a' that,
⁠My dearest bluid, to do them guid,
⁠They're welcome till't, for a' that.

RECITATIVO.

So sang the bard—and Nansie's wa's
Shook with a thunder of applause,
⁠Re-echo'd from each mouth;
They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds,
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds,
⁠To quench their lowan drouth

Then owre again, the jovial thrang
⁠The poet did request,
To lowse his pack an' wale a sang,
⁠A ballad o' the best;

He, rising, rejoicing,
⁠Between his twa Deborahs,
Looks round him, an' found them
⁠Impatient for the chorus.

AIR.
Tune—'Jolly Mortals. Fill your Glasses.'

See! the smoking bowl before us,
⁠Mark our jovial ragged ring;
Round and round take up the chorus,
⁠And in raptures let us sing:

CHORUS.

⁠A fig for those by law protected!
⁠Liberty's a glorious feast!
⁠Courts for cowards were erected,
⁠Churches built to please the priest.

What is title? what is treasure?
⁠What is reputation's care?
If we lead a life of pleasure,
⁠'Tis no matter, how or where!
⁠A fig, etc.

With the ready trick and fable,
⁠Round we wander all the day;
And at night, in barn or stable,
⁠Hug our doxies on the hay.
⁠A fig, etc.

Does the train-attended carriage
⁠Thro' the country lighter rove?
Does the sober bed of marriage
⁠Witness brighter scenes of love?
⁠A fig, etc.

Life is all a variorum,
⁠We regard not how it goes;
Let them cant about decorum
⁠Who have character to lose.
⁠A fig, etc.

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets!
⁠Here's to all the wandering train!
Here's our ragged brats and callets!
⁠One and all cry out, Amen!
⁠A fig, etc.