Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/240
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
184
THE POEMS OF BURNS.
EPITAPH ON WALTER S———.
Sic a reptile was Wat,
Sic a miscreant slave,
That the worms ev'n damn'd him
When laid in his grave.
'In his flesh there's a famine,'
A starv'd reptile cries;
'An' his heart is rank poison,'
Another replies.
Sic a miscreant slave,
That the worms ev'n damn'd him
When laid in his grave.
'In his flesh there's a famine,'
A starv'd reptile cries;
'An' his heart is rank poison,'
Another replies.
GRACE BEFORE MEAT.
O Lord, when hunger pinches sore,
Do thou stand us in need,
And send us from thy bounteous store,
A tup or wether head! Amen.
Do thou stand us in need,
And send us from thy bounteous store,
A tup or wether head! Amen.
ON COMMISSARY GOLDIE'S BRAINS.
Lord, to account who dares thee call,
Or e'er dispute thy pleasure?
Else why within so thick a wall
Enclose so poor a treasure?
Or e'er dispute thy pleasure?
Else why within so thick a wall
Enclose so poor a treasure?
IMPROMPTU.
How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced,
Ye ugly, glowering spectre?
My face was but the keekin' glass,
An' there ye saw your picture.
Ye ugly, glowering spectre?
My face was but the keekin' glass,
An' there ye saw your picture.
IMPROMPTU.
At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer,
And plenty of bacon each day in the year;
We've all things that's nice, and mostly in season,
But why always Bacon—come, give me a reason?
And plenty of bacon each day in the year;
We've all things that's nice, and mostly in season,
But why always Bacon—come, give me a reason?
EPIGRAM.
When ———, deceased, to the devil went down,
'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown,
'Thy fool's head,' quoth Satan, 'that crown shall wear never,
I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.'
'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown,
'Thy fool's head,' quoth Satan, 'that crown shall wear never,
I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.'