LINES

ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAER

THIS wot ye all whom it concerns,
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns,
October twenty-third,

A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day,

Sae far I spreckled up the brae,
I dinner'd wi' a Lord!

I've been at drucken writers' feasts,
Nay, been bitch fou 'mang godly priests,
Wi' rev'rence be it spoken:

I've even join'd the honor'd jorum,
When mighty squireships of the quorum
Their hydra drouth did sloken.

But wi' a Lord - stand out my shin!
A Lord, a Peer, an Earl's son!

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!
To show Sir Bardy's willyart glow'r,
And how he star'd and stammer'd,

When goavan, as if led wi' branks,
An' stumpin on his ploughman shanks,
He in the parlor hammer'd.

I, sliding, shelter'd in a nook,
An' at his Lordship steal't a look

Like some portentous omen⚫
Except good sense and social glee,
An' (what surpris'd me) modesty,

I marked nought uncommon.

I watch'd the symptoms o' the great,
The gentle pride, the lordly state,
The arrogant assuming;

The fient a pride, nae pride had he,
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see,
Mair than an honest ploughman.

Then from his Lordship I shall learn,
Henceforth to meet with unconcern

One rank as weel's another:
Nae honest, worthy man need care,
To meet with noble, youthful Daer,
For he but meets a brother.

THE INVENTORY.

'N ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF TER

TAXES.

SIR, as your mandate did request,
I send you here a faithfu' list
O'gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith,
To whh I'm clear to gie my aith.

Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle,
I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle,
As ever drew afore a pettle.
My Lan'-afore's a guid auld has-been,
An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days seen:

My Lan'-ahin's a weel gaun fillie,
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie
An' your auld burro' monie a time,
In days when riding was nae crime;
But ance, when in my wooing pride,
I, like a blockhead, boost to ride,
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to,
(L-d pardon a' my sins, an' that to!)
I play'd my fillie sic a shavie,
She's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie.
My Furr-ah.n's § a wordy beast
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd.
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie,
A d-n'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie;
Forbye a Cowt o' Cowt's the wale,
As ever ran afore a tail.

If he be spar'd to be a beast,
He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least.

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,
Nae kind of license out I'm takin'
Frae this time forth, I do declare,
I'se ne'er ride norse nor hizzie mair;
Thro' dirt an' dub for life I'll paddle.
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle'

My travel a' on foot I'll shank it,
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit.

The kirk an' you may tak you that,
It puts but little in your pat:
Sae dinna put me in your buke,

Nor for my ten white shillings luke.

This list, wi' my ain hand I wrote it,
Day and date as under notit;

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?
Your impudence protects you sairly,
I canna say but ye strunt rarely

Owre gauze an' lace;

Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt and sinner,
How dare ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a lady?

Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner

On some poor body!