HE. The bee that through the sunny hour SHE. The woodbine in the dewy weet, As is a kiss o' Willy. HE. Let fortune's wheel at random rin, SHE. What's a' the joys that gowd can gie? And that's my ain dear Willy. Nov. 19, 1794. lose CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. TUNE-Lumps o' Pudding. CONTENTED Wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, merry Scottish sang. slap pail- ale I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought, But man is a sodger, and life is a faught: fight My mirth and good-humour are coin in my pouch, And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. When at the blithe end of our journey at last, Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past? Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way; stumble totter Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae: Come ease or come travail, come pleasure or pain, My warst word is: "Welcome, and welcome again!" Nov. 19, 1794. CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY KATY? TUNE-Roy's Wife. CHORUS. CANST thou leave me thus, my Katy? Is this thy plighted, fond regard, Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear That fickle heart of thine, my Katy! Thou may'st find those will love thee dearBut not a love like mine, my Katy. 1 Nov. 19, 1794. 1 This song is a poetical expression of the more gentle feeling Burns was now beginning to entertain towards Mrs. Rid It del. Burns could not write verses on any woman without imagining her as a mistress, past, present, or potential. He accordingly treats the breach of friendship which had occurred between him and the fair hostess of Woodley Park, as a falling away on her part from constancy in the tender passion. appears, moreover, that he sent the song to Mrs. Riddel, as a sort of olive-branch, and that she did not receive it in an unkindly spirit, though probably without forgetting that the bard had wounded her delicacy. She answered the song in the same strain, and sent her own piece to Burns, for it was found by Currie amongst his papers after his death. STAY, MY WILLIE, YET BELIEVE ME. Stay, my Willie - yet believe me; For, ah! thou know'st na' every pang Wad wring my bosom shouldst thou leave me. Tell me that thou yet art true, And a' my wrongs shall be forgiven; And when this heart proves fause to thee, Yon sun shall cease its course in heaven. But to think I was betrayed, That falsehood e'er our loves should sunder! To take the flow'ret to my breast, And find the guilefu' serpent under! Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive, I'd slight, nor seek in other spheres Stay, my Willie- yet believe me; For, ah! thou know'st na' every pang Wad wring my bosom shouldst thou leave me. FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. "A great critic (Aikin) on songs says, that love and wine are the exclusive themes for song-writing. The following is on neither subject, and consequently is no song, but will be allowed, I think, to be two or three pretty good prose thoughts inverted into rhyme.” — Burns to Mr. Thomson, January, 1795. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that! Our toils obscure, and a' that; What though on hamely fare we dine, Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 1 A similar thought occurs in Wycherley's Plain-Dealer, which Burns probably never saw: "I weigh the man, not his title; 'tis not the king's stamp can make the metal better or heavier. Your lord is a leaden shilling, which you hend every way, and debases the stamp he bears." |