LINES ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAER THIS wot ye all whom it concerns, A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, Sae far I spreckled up the brae, I've been at drucken writers' feasts, I've even join'd the honor'd jorum, But wi' a Lord - stand out my shin! Up higher yet, my bonnet! And sic a Lord lang Scotch ells twa! Our peerage he o'erlooks them a', As I look o'er my sonnet. But oh, for Hogarth's magic power! When goavan, as if led wi' branks, I, sliding, shelter'd in a nook, Like some portentous omen⚫ I marked nought uncommon. I watch'd the symptoms o' the great, The fient a pride, nae pride had he, Then from his Lordship I shall learn, One rank as weel's another: THE INVENTORY. 'N ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF TER TAXES. SIR, as your mandate did request, Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, My Lan'-ahin's a weel gaun fillie, If he be spar'd to be a beast, Wheel-carriages I hae but few,— Three carts, an' twa are feckly new; Ane auld wheel-barrow, mair for token, Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken; I made a poker o' the spin'le, An' my auld mither brunt the trin'le. • The fore-horse on the left-hand, in the plough. † The hindmost on the left-band, in the plough. ↑ Kilmarnock The hindmost horse on the right-hand, in the plough For men, I've three mischievous boys, Tun deils r rantin and for noise; A gaudsmɛ ane, a thrasher t'other, Wee Davoc hauds the nowt in fother. I rule them as I ought, discreetly, Ar' aften labor them completely; An' ay on Sundays, duly, nightly, I on the questions targe them tightly; Till, faith! wee Davoc's turn'd sae gleg, Tho' scarely langer than your leg, He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, As fast as onie in the dwalling. I've nane in female servan' station, (L-d, keep me ay frae a' temptation!) I hae na wife; and that my bliss is, An' ye hae laid na tax on misses; An' then, if kirk-folk dinna clutch me, I ken the devils dare na touch me. Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, Heav'n sent me ane mair than I wanted; My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, She stares the daddie in her face, Eno igh of aught ye like but grace; But her, my bonie, sweet, wee lady I've paid eneugh for her already; An' gin ye tax her, or her mither, B' the L--d, ye'se get them a' thegither And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, The kirk an' you may tak you that, Nor for my ten white shillings luke. This list, wi' my ain hand I wrote it, Then, know all ye whom it concerns, Subscripsi huic, Mossgiel, Feb. 22, 1786. ROBERT BURNS. TO A LOUSE, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET, AT CHURCH HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie? Owre gauze an' lace; Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner On some poor body! |