 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
216
THE CALF
To the Rev. James Steven, on his text,
Malachi
iv. 2:—
‘And ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall.’
‘And ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall.’
I
Right, sir! your text I'll prove it true,Tho' heretics may laugh;
For instance, there's yoursel just now,
God knows, an unco calf.
II
And should some patron be so kindAs bless you wi' a kirk,
I doubt na, sir, but then we'll find
You're still as great a stirk.
III
But, if the lover's raptur'd hourShall ever be your lot,
Forbid it, every heavenly Power,
You e'er should be a stot!
IV
Tho', when some kind connubial dearYour but-an'-ben adorns,
The like has been that you may wear
A noble head of horns.
217
V
And, in your lug, most reverend James,To hear you roar and rowte,
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims
To rank among the nowte.
VI
And when ye're number'd wi' the deadBelow a grassy hillock,
With justice they may mark your head:—
‘Here lies a famous bullock!’
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |