Is he south, or is he north? Igo and ago, Or drowned in the river Forth? Iram, coram, dago. Is he slain by Highlan' bodies? Igo and ago, And eaten like a wether-haggis? Iram, coram, dago. Is he to Abram's bosom gane? Igo and ago, Or haudin' Sarah by the wame? Iram, coram, dago. Where'er he be, the Lord be near him! Igo and ago, As for the de'il, he daurna steer him! Iram, coram, dago. But please transmit th' enclosed letter, So may ye ha'e auld stanes in store, So may ye get in glad possession, Igo and ago, The coins o' Satan's coronation! Iram, coram, dago. PROLOGUE, SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES, ON NEW-YEAR'S-DAY EVENING, 1790. [Mr. Sutherland, the manager of the theatrical company at Dumfries, "spouted to the audience with applause "-as Burns himself wrote to his brother Gilbert-the following Prologue on the evening of New Year's Day.] No song nor dance I bring from yon great city That queens it o'er our taste-the more 's the pity: Though, by the bye, abroad why will you roam? Good sense and taste are natives here at home : But not for panegyric I appear, I come to wish you all a good new year! Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, Not for to preach, but tell his simple story. The sage grave ancient coughed, and bade me say, "You're one year older this important day." If wiser, too-he hinted some sugges tion, But 't would be rude, you know, to ask the question; And with a would-be roguish leer and wink, He bade me on you press this one word —“Think !” Ye sprightly youths, quite flushed with hope and spirit, Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, To you the dotard has a deal to say, In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way! He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, That the first blow is ever half the battle; That though some by the skirt may try I see the old, bald-pated fellow, to snatch him, With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch Adjust the unimpaired machine, him; That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, You may do miracles by persevering. Last, though not least, in love, ye faithful fair, To wheel the equal dull routine. The absent lover, minor heir, Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar Will you (the Major's with the hounds, care ! The happy tenants share his rounds; To you old Bald-pate smooths his Coila's fair Rachel's care to day, To crown your happiness he asks your That grandchild's cap will do to-mor leave, And offers bliss to give and to receive. For our sincere, though haply weak endeavours, With grateful pride we own your many favours; And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. SKETCH-NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1790. To MRS. DUNLOP. ["The Major" was Mrs. Dunlop's second son, afterwards General Dunlop; "Rachel " was Mrs. Dunlop's daughter, afterwards married to Robert Glasgow, Esq.; while "blooming Keith" was Mrs. Dunlop's youngest daughter. The line referring to Rachel alludes to her artistic pencil being at the moment employed in sketching Coila in the "Vision."] row And join with me a-moralizing, First, what did yesternight deliver?— "The passing moment 's all we rest on!" THIS day, Time winds the exhausted Must take its hue from this alone; Since, then, my honoured first of friends, Is there no daring bard will rise and tell How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell? Where are the Muses fled that could produce Though you, with days and honours A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce? crowned, Witness that filial circle round, SCOTS PROLOGUE, FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT NIGHT, DUMFRIES. [Written in February 1790, and given by Burns to the theatrical manager, Mr. Sutherland, of whom the Poet wrote to Nicol-"a worthier or cleverer fellow I have rarely met with."] WHAT needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, How this new play and that new sang is comin'? Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted? Does nonsense mend, like whisky, when imported? How here, even here, he first unsheathed the sword 'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord; And after mony a bloody, deathless doing, Wrenched his dear country from the jaws of ruin? Oh, for a Shakspere or an Otway scene To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish queen! Vain all the omnipotence of female charms 'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebel lion's arms. PROLOGUE, FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT NIGHT, DUMFRIES. Is there nae poet, burning keen for SHE fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, fame, To glut the vengeance of a rival woman : Will try to gi'e us sangs and plays at A woman-though the phrase may seem hame ? For comedy abroad he needna toil, A fool and knave are plants of every soil; uncivi! As able and as cruel as the devil! Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and But Douglases were heroes every age: Greece To gather matter for a serious piece; There's themes enow in Caledonian And though your fathers, prodigal of life, A Douglas followed to the martial strife, Perhaps, if bowls row right, and Right succeeds, Would show the tragic muse in a' her Ye yet may follow where a Douglas story, glory. leads! As ye ha'e generous done, if a' the land Would take the Muses' servants by the hand; Not only hear, but patronize, befriend them, And where ye justly can commend, commend them; And aiblins when they winna stand the test, TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD AND OFFERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF [Dated Ellisland, Monday morning (no month named), 1790, the following lines-which, by the way, give very succinctly a record of the state of Wink hard, and say the folks ha'e done Europe at that period-were addressed, accord their best ! Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution ing to the conjecture of Robert Chambers, to Peter Stuart, then Editor, in London, of the Star newspaper.] Ye'll soon ha'e poets of the Scottish KIND Sir, I've read your paper through, nation, And, faith, to me 't was really new! Will gar Fame blaw until her trumpet How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I crack, And warsle Time, and lay him on his This mony a day I've graned and back! gaunted wanted? For us and for our stage should only To ken what French mischief was spier, brewin', "Wha's aught thae chiels mak's a' this Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin'; bustle here?" That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph, My best leg foremost, I'll set up my If Venus yet had got his nose off; brow, We have the honour to belong to you! We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, Or how the collieshangie works But, like good mithers, shore before ye If Denmark, anybody spak' o't; strike. Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't; And gratefu' still I hope ye 'll ever find How cut-throat Prussian blades were us, ness hingin'; For a' the patronage and meikle kind- How libbet Italy was singin'; ranks; God help us! we're but poor-ye'se get | In Britain's court, kept up the game; but thanks. How royal George-the Lord leuk o'er him! Was managing St. Stephen's quorum; If sleekit Chatham Will was livin', Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; How cesses, stents, and fees were raxed, ELEGY ON PEG NICHOLSON. [Peg Nicholson was a sorry hack which had been palmed off as sound of wind and limb upon William Nicol, the guileless Dominie of the High School of Edinburgh. Burns, who, upon her vices coming to be realized, received her on his farm with a view to get rid of her, at the first opportunity, for what she would fetch, thus announced the mare's death to her unlucky possessor. The name given to the mare was borrowed from the wretched madwoman who, on the 2nd of August, 1786, tried to assassinate King George III.] PEG NICHOLSON was a good bay mare Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, And rode through thick and thin; But now she's floating down the Nith, And wanting e'en the skin. Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, was, As priest-rid cattle are. ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY. [This first made its appearance in the Scots Magazine for February 1818, being then printed from Burns's manuscript. It is grotesquely dated June, Anno Mundi, 5790, but is reputed to have been written in 1786, the same year in that case producing the Address to the Deil, and the Address of Beelzebub.] LONG life, my lord, and health be yours, Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, To watch and premier o'er the pack vile; tons To bring them to a right repentance, |