Ye're wae men, ye're nae men, Ilk honest birkie swears. V. For you, na bred to barn or byre, May losses and crosses Ne'er at your hallan ca'. March, 1787. R. BURNS. TO J. RANKEN, ON HIS WRITING TO THE AUTHOR THAT A GIRL WAS WITH CHILD BY HIM. I AM a keeper of the law In some sma' points, altho' not a'; Ae way or ither, The breaking of ae point, tho' sma", I hae been in for't ance or twice, But now a rumor's like to rise, A whaup's i' the nest. ADDRESS TO AN ILLEGITIMATE CHILD. THOυ's welcome, wean, mishanter fa' me, Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me Wee image of my bonie Betty, As a' the priests had seen me get thee, What tho' they ca' me fornicator, An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter Sweet fruit o monie a merry dint, An' if thou be what I wad hae thee, If thou be spar'd; Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, Gude grant that thou may ay inherit 'Twill please me mair to hear an' see't, TO A TAILOR, IN ANSWER TO AN EPISTLE WHICH HE HAD SENT THE AUTHOR. WHAT ails ye now, ye lousie b-h, I did na suffer half sae much Frae daddy Auld. What tho' at times, when I grow crouse, Your servant sae? Gae, mind your seam, ye prick the louse An' jag the flae. King David, o' poetic brief, Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief An' yet he's rank'd amang the chief And, may be, Tam, for a' my cants, An' snugly sit amang the saunts, But fegs, the session says I maun Than garren lasses cowp the cran, This leads me on to tell, for sport Auld Clinkum at the inner port Cried three times, "Robin! Come hither, lad, an' answer for't, Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on, An' syne Mess John, beyond expression, A fornicator loun he call'd me, An' said my faut frae bliss expell'd me; "Geld you!" quo' he, "and whatfore no, To cut it aff, and whatfore no Your dearest member." "Na, na," quo' I, "I'm no for that: Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't. I'd rather suffer for my faut, A hearty flewit, As sair owre hip as ye can draw't! "Or gin ye like to end the bother, I'll frankly gie her't a' thegither, An' let her guide it." |