The Poetry of Robert Burns Edited by William Ernest Henley and Thomas F. Henderson |
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ADAM ARMOUR'S PRAYER |
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 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
ADAM ARMOUR'S PRAYER
I
Gude pity me, because I'm little!For though I am an elf o' mettle,
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Jink there or here,
Yet, scarce as lang's a guid kail-whittle,
I'm unco queer.
II
An' now Thou kens our woefu' case:For Geordie's jurr we're in disgrace,
Because we stang'd her through the place,
An' hurt her spleuchan;
For whilk we daurna show our face
Within the clachan.
III
An' now we're dern'd in dens and hollows,And hunted, as was William Wallace,
Wi' constables—thae blackguard fallows—
An' sodgers baith;
But Gude preserve us frae the gallows,
That shamefu' death!
IV
Auld, grim, black-bearded Geordie's sel'—O, shake him owre the mouth o' Hell!
There let him hing, an' roar, an' yell
Wi' hideous din,
And if he offers to rebel,
Then heave him in!
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V
When Death comes in wi' glimmerin blink,An' tips auld drucken Nanse the wink,
May Sautan gie her doup a clink
Within his yett,
An' fill her up wi' brimstone drink
Red-reekin het.
VI
Though Jock an' hav'rel Jean are merry,Some devil seize them in a hurry,
An' waft them in th'infernal wherry
Straught through the lake,
An' gie their hides a noble curry
Wi' oil of aik!
VII
As for the jurr—puir worthless body!—She's got mischief enough already;
Wi' stanget hips and buttocks bluidy
She's suffer'd sair;
But may she wintle in a woody
If she whore mair!
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |