ANSWER TO A MANDATE

SENT BY THE SURVEYOR OF THE WINDOWS, CARRIAGES, &c. TO EACH FARMER, ORDERING HIM TO SEND A SIGNED LIST OF HIS HORSES,

SERVANTS, WHEEL-CARRIAGES, &c. AND WHETHER HE WAS A MARRIED MAN OR A BACHELOR, AND WHAT CHILDREN THEY HAD.

SIR, as your mandate did request,
I send you here a faithfu' list,
My horses, servants, carts, and graith,
To which I'm free to tak my aith.
Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle,
I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle,
As ever drew before a pettle.
My hand-afore,* a guid auld has been,
And wight and wilfu' a' his days seen;
My hand-a-hin,† a guid brown filly,
Wha aft has borne me safe frae Killie ;
And your auld borough mony a time,
In days when riding was nae crime:
My fur-a-hin, a guid, grey beast,
As e'er in tug or tow was traced:
The fourth, a Highland Donald hasty,
A d-mn'd red-wud, Kilburnie blastie.
For-by a cowte, of cowtes the wale,
As ever ran before a tail;
An' he be spared to be a beast,
He'll draw me fifteen pund at least.

Wheel carriages I hae but few,
Three carts, and twa are feckly new,
An auld wheel-barrow, mair for token,
Ae leg and baith the trams are broken;
I made a poker o' the spindle,
And my auld mither brunt the trundle.
For men, I've three mischievous boys,
Run-deils for rantin and for noise;
A gadsman ane, a thresher t'other,
Wee Davoc hauds the nowt in fother.
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly,
And often labour them completely,
And aye on Sundays duly nightly,
I on the questions tairge them tightly,
"Till, faith; wee Davoc's grown sae gleg,
(Tho' scarcely langer than my leg)
He'll screed you aff effectual calling,
As fast as ony in the dwalling.

I've nane in female servant station,
Lord keep me aye frae a' temptation!
I hae nae wife, and that my bliss is,
And ye hae laid nae tax on misses;
For weans I'm mair than weel contented,
Heaven sent me ane mair than I wanted:
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess,
She stares the daddie in her face,
Enough of ought ye like but grace.
But her, my bonny, sweet, wee lady,
I've said enough for her already,

And if ye tax her or her mither,
By the L-d ye'se get them a' thegither!

And now, remember, Mr Aiken,
Nae kind of license out I'm taking.
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle,
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle;
I've sturdy stumps, the Lord be thankit!
And a' my gates on foot I'll shank it.

This list wi' my ain hand I've wrote it,
The day and date as under notet;
Then know all ye whom it concerns,
Subscripsi huic,

ROBERT BURNS

SONG.

NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair;*
Shall ever be my muse's care;
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gie me my highland lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, O,
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O,
I set me down, wi' right good will,
To sing my highland lassie, O.

O were yon hills and valleys mine,
Yon palace and yon gardens fine!
The world then the love should know
1 bear my highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea;
But while my crimson currents flow,
I'll love my highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour's glow
My faithful highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

For her I'll dare the billow's roar,
For her I'll trace a distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw,
Around my highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred truth and honour's band!
'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I'm thine my highland lassie, Ó.
Within the glen, &c.

Farewell the glen sae bushy, O
Farewell the plain sae rushy, O

* Gentle is used here in opposition to simple, in the Scottish and old English sense of the word. Nae gentle dames-No high-blooded.

OLD Winter with his frosty beard,
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd;
"What have I done of all the year,
To bear this hated doom severe ?
My cheerless sons no pleasure know;
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow:
My dismal months no joys are crowning,
But spleeny English hanging, drowning.

Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil;
To counterbalance all this evil;
Give me, and I've no more to say,
Give me Maria's natal day!

That brilliant gift will so enrich me,
Spring, Summer, Autumn cannot match me :"
"Tis done!" says Jove; so ends my story,
And Winter once rejoiced in glory.

ADDRESS TO A LADY.

OH wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,

My plaidie to the angry airt,

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee: Or did misfortune's bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy bield hould be my bosom, To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a paradise,

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. Or were I monarch o' the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign; The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

SONNET,

WRITTEN ON THE 25th JANUARY 1793, THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE AUTHOR, ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK.

SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain,
See aged Winter 'mid his surly reign,
At thy blythe carol clears his furrowed brow.
So in lone poverty's dominion drear,

Sits meek content with light unanxious heart, Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part,

Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear.

I thank thee, Author of this opening day! Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies!

Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, What wealth could never give nor take away!

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care, The mite high heaven bestowed, that mite with thee I'll share.

EXTEMPORE,

TO MR S-E,

ON REFUSING TO DINE WITH HIM, AFTER HAVING
BEEN PROMISED THE FIRST OF COMPANY,
AND THE FIRST OF COOKERY, 17th
DECEMBER, 1795.

No more of your guests, be they titled or not,
And cookery the first in the nation :
Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit,
Is proof to all other temptation.

TO MR S-E,

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER.

O HAD the malt thy strength of mind,
Or hops the flavour of thy wit;
Twere drink for first of human kind,
A gift that e'en for S-e were fit.
Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries.

OLD Winter with his frosty beard,
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr❜d;
"What have I done of all the year,
To bear this hated doom severe ?
My cheerless sons no pleasure know;
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow:
My dismal months no joys are crowning,
But spleeny English hanging, drowning.

Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil;
To counterbalance all this evil;
Give me, and I've no more to say,
Give me Maria's natal day!

That brilliant gift will so enrich me,
Spring, Summer, Autumn cannot match me :"
"Tis done!" says Jove; so ends my story,
And Winter once rejoiced in glory.

ADDRESS TO A LADY.

OH wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,

My plaidie to the angry airt,

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee: Or did misfortune's bitter storms

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy bield hould be my bosom, To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a paradise,

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. Or were I monarch o' the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign; The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

TO A YOUNG LADY,

MISS JESSY L, OF DUMFRIES;

WITH BOOKS WHICH THE BARD PRESENTED HER.

THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair,

And with them take the poet's prayer;
That fate may in her fairest page,
With every kindliest, best presage

This is an early production, and seems to have been written on Highland Mary.

TO MR S-E,

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER.

O HAD the malt thy strength of mind,
Or hops the flavour of thy wit;
'Twere drink for first of human kind,
A gift that e'en for S-e were fit.
Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries.