Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/203
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THE POEMS OF BURNS.
147
LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK,
ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS.
O Goudie! terror o' the Whigs,
Dread o' black coats and rev'rend wigs,
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs,
Girnin' looks back,
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues
Wad seize you quick.
Dread o' black coats and rev'rend wigs,
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs,
Girnin' looks back,
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues
Wad seize you quick.
Poor gapin' glowrin' Superstition,
Waes me! she's in a sad condition;
Fy, bring Black-Jock, her state physician,
To see her water;
Alas! there's ground o' great suspicion
She'll ne'er get better.
Waes me! she's in a sad condition;
Fy, bring Black-Jock, her state physician,
To see her water;
Alas! there's ground o' great suspicion
She'll ne'er get better.
Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple,
But now she's got an unco' ripple;
Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel,
Nigh unto death;
See how she fetches at the thrapple,
An' gasps for breath.
But now she's got an unco' ripple;
Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel,
Nigh unto death;
See how she fetches at the thrapple,
An' gasps for breath.
Enthusiasm's past redemption,
Gaen in a galloping consumption,
Not a' the quacks, with a' their gumption,
Will ever mend her,
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption,
Death soon will end her.
Gaen in a galloping consumption,
Not a' the quacks, with a' their gumption,
Will ever mend her,
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption,
Death soon will end her.
'Tis you and Taylor are the chief,
Wha are to blame for this mischief;
But gin the Lord's ain folks gat leave,
A toom tar-barrel
An' twa red peats wad send relief,
An' end the quarrel.
Wha are to blame for this mischief;
But gin the Lord's ain folks gat leave,
A toom tar-barrel
An' twa red peats wad send relief,
An' end the quarrel.
LETTER TO JAMES TAIT, GLENCONNOR.
Auld Comrade dear and brither sinner,
How's a' the folk about Glenconnor;
How do you this blae eastlin wind,
That's like to blaw a body blind?
For me, my faculties are frozen,
My dearest member nearly dozen'd.
I've sent you here by Johnie Simson,
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on;
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling,
An' Reid, to common sense appealing.
Philosophers have fought an' wrangled,
An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled,
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd,
An' in the depth of Science mir'd,
To common sense they now appeal,
What wives an' wabsters see an' feel.
But, hark ye, friend, I charge you strictly,
Peruse them, an' return them quickly,
For now I'm grown sae cursed douse,
I pray an' ponder butt the house,
My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin',
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an' Boston;
Till by an' by, if I haud on,
I'll grunt a real Gospel-groan:
Already I begin to try it,
To cast my een up like a pyet,
When by the gun she tumbles o'er,
Flutt'ring an' gaspin in her gore:
Sae shortly you shall see me bright,
A burning an' a shining light.
My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen,
The ace an' wale of honest men:
When bending down wi' auld grey hairs,
Beneath the load of years and cares,
How's a' the folk about Glenconnor;
How do you this blae eastlin wind,
That's like to blaw a body blind?
For me, my faculties are frozen,
My dearest member nearly dozen'd.
I've sent you here by Johnie Simson,
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on;
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling,
An' Reid, to common sense appealing.
Philosophers have fought an' wrangled,
An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled,
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd,
An' in the depth of Science mir'd,
To common sense they now appeal,
What wives an' wabsters see an' feel.
But, hark ye, friend, I charge you strictly,
Peruse them, an' return them quickly,
For now I'm grown sae cursed douse,
I pray an' ponder butt the house,
My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin',
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an' Boston;
Till by an' by, if I haud on,
I'll grunt a real Gospel-groan:
Already I begin to try it,
To cast my een up like a pyet,
When by the gun she tumbles o'er,
Flutt'ring an' gaspin in her gore:
Sae shortly you shall see me bright,
A burning an' a shining light.
My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen,
The ace an' wale of honest men:
When bending down wi' auld grey hairs,
Beneath the load of years and cares,