 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
THE JOLLY BEGGARS
A CANTATA
RECITATIVO
I
When lyart leaves bestrow the yird,Or, wavering like the bauckie-bird,
Bedim cauld Boreas' blast;
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,
And infant frosts begin to bite,
In hoary cranreuch drest;
Ae night at e'en a merry core
O' randie, gangrel bodies
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore,
To drink their orra duddies:
Wi' quaffing and laughing
They ranted an' they sang,
Wi' jumping an' thumping
The vera girdle rang.
II
First, niest the fire, in auld red ragsAne sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags
2
His doxy lay within his arm;
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm,
She blinket on her sodger.
An' ay he gies the tozie drab
The tither skelpin kiss,
While she held up her greedy gab
Just like an aumous dish:
Ilk smack still did crack still
Like onie cadger's whup;
Then, swaggering an' staggering,
He roar'd this ditty up:—
AIR
I
I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars,And show my cuts and scars wherever I come:
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.
Lal de daudle, etc.
II
My prenticeship I past, where my leader breath'd his last,When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram;
3
And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum.
III
I lastly was with Curtis among the floating batt'ries,And there I left for witness an arm and a limb;
Yet let my country need me, with Eliott to head me
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of the drum.
IV
And now, tho' I must beg with a wooden arm and legAnd many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum,
I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet
As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum.
V
What tho' with hoary locks I must stand the winter shocks,Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home?
When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell,
I could meet a troop of Hell at the sound of a drum.
Lal de daudle, etc.
4
RECITATIVO
He ended; and the kebars sheukAboon the chorus roar;
While frighted rattons backward leuk,
An' seek the benmost bore:
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk,
He skirl'd out Encore!
But up arose the martial chuck,
An' laid the loud uproar:—
AIR
I
I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when,And still my delight is in proper young men.
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie:
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie!
Sing, lal de dal, etc.
II
The first of my loves was a swaggering blade:To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,
Transported I was with my sodger laddie.
5
III
But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch;The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;
He riskèd the soul, and I ventur'd the body:
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.
IV
Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot;The regiment at large for a husband I got;
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready:
I askèd no more but a sodger laddie.
V
But the Peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair,Till I met my old boy in a Cunningham Fair;
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy:
My heart it rejoic'd at a sodger laddie.
VI
And now I have liv'd—I know not how long!But still I can join in a cup and a song;
And whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie!
Sing, lal de dal, etc.
6
RECITATIVO
Poor Merry-Andrew in the neukSat guzzling wi' a tinkler-hizzie;
They mind't na wha the chorus teuk,
Between themselves they were sae busy.
At length, wi' drink an' courting dizzy,
He stoiter'd up an' made a face;
Then turn'd an' laid a smack on Grizzie,
Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace:—
AIR
I
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou;Sir Knave is a fool in a session:
He's there but a prentice I trow,
But I am a fool by profession.
II
My grannie she bought me a beuk,An' I held awa to the school:
I fear I my talent misteuk,
But what will ye hae of a fool?
7
III
For drink I wad venture my neck;A hizzie's the half of my craft:
But what could ye other expect
Of ane that's avowedly daft?
IV
I ance was tyed up like a stirkFor civilly swearing and quaffing;
I ance was abus'd i' the kirk
For towsing a lass i' my daffin.
V
Poor Andrew that tumbles for sportLet naebody name wi' a jeer:
There's even, I'm tauld, i' the Court
A tumbler ca'd the Premier.
VI
Observ'd ye yon reverend ladMak faces to tickle the mob?
He rails at our mountebank squad—
It's rivalship just i' the job!
VII
And now my conclusion I'll tell,For faith! I'm confoundedly dry:
The chiel that's a fool for himsel,
Guid Lord! he's far dafter than I.
8
RECITATIVO
Then niest outspak a raucle carlin,Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlin,
For monie a pursie she had hookèd,
An' had in monie a well been doukèd.
Her love had been a Highland laddie,
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie!
Wi' sighs an' sobs she thus began
To wail her braw John Highlandman:—
AIR
I
A Highland lad my love was born,The lalland laws he held in scorn,
But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
Chorus
Sing hey my braw John Highlandman!Sing ho my braw John Highlandman!
There's not a lad in a' the lan'
Was match for my John Highlandman!
9
II
With his philibeg, an' tartan plaid,An' guid claymore down by his side,
The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
III
We rangèd a' from Tweed to Spey,An' liv'd like lords an' ladies gay,
For a lalland face he fearèd none,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
IV
They banish'd him beyond the sea,But ere the bud was on the tree,
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
Embracing my John Highlandman.
V
But, Och! they catch'd him at the last,And bound him in a dungeon fast.
My curse upon them every one—
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman!
10
VI
And now a widow I must mournThe pleasures that will ne'er return;
No comfort but a hearty can
When I think on John Highlandman.
Chorus
Sing hey my braw John Highlandman!Sing ho my braw John Highlandman!
There's not a lad in a' the lan'
Was match for my John Highlandman!
RECITATIVO
I
A pigmy scraper on a fiddle,Wha us'd to trystes an' fairs to driddle,
Her strappin limb an' gawsie middle
(He reach'd nae higher)
Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle,
An' blawn't on fire.
II
Wi' hand on hainch and upward e'e,He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three,
Then in an arioso key
The wee Apollo
Set off wi' allegretto glee
His giga solo:—
11
AIR
I
Let me ryke up to dight that tear;An' go wi' me an' be my dear,
An' then your every care an' fear
May whistle owre the lave o't.
Chorus
I am a fiddler to my trade,An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd,
The sweetest still to wife or maid
Was Whistle Owre the Lave O't.
II
At kirns an' weddins we 'se be there,An' O, sae nicely's we will fare!
We'll bowse about till Daddie Care
Sing Whistle Owre the Lave O't.
III
Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke,An' sun oursels about the dyke;
An' at our leisure, when ye like,
We'll—whistle owre the lave o't!
12
IV
But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms,An' while I kittle hair on thairms,
Hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms
May whistle owre the lave o't.
Chorus
I am a fiddler to my trade,An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd,
The sweetest still to wife or maid
Was Whistle Owre the Lave O't.
RECITATIVO
I
Her charms had struck a sturdy cairdAs weel as poor gut-scraper;
He taks the fiddler by the beard,
An' draws a roosty rapier;
He swoor by a' was swearing worth
To speet him like a pliver,
Unless he would from that time forth
Relinquish her for ever.
13
II
Wi' ghastly e'e poor Tweedle-DeeUpon his hunkers bended,
An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,
An' sae the quarrel ended.
But tho' his little heart did grieve
When round the tinkler prest her,
He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve
When thus the caird address'd her:—
AIR
I
My bonie lass, I work in brass,A tinkler is my station;
I've travell'd round all Christian ground
In this my occupation;
I've taen the gold, an' been enrolled
In many a noble squadron;
But vain they search'd when off I march'd
To go an' clout the cauldron.
II
Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,With a' his noise an' cap'rin,
An' take a share wi' those that bear
The budget and the apron!
14
And by that dear Kilbaigie!
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,
May I ne'er weet my craigie!
RECITATIVO
I
The caird prevail'd: th'unblushing fairIn his embraces sunk,
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,
An' partly she was drunk.
Sir Violino, with an air
That show'd a man o' spunk,
Wish'd unison between the pair,
An' made the bottle clunk
To their health that night.
II
But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft,That play'd a dame a shavie:
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft
Behint the chicken cavie;
Her lord, a wight of Homer's craft,
Tho' limpin' wi' the spavie,
He hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft,
An' shor'd them ‘Dainty Davie’
O' boot that night.
15
III
He was a care-defying bladeAs ever Bacchus listed!
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid,
His heart, she ever miss'd it.
He had no wish but—to be glad,
Nor want but—when he thristed,
He hated nought but—to be sad;
An' thus the Muse suggested
His sang that night.
AIR
I
I am a Bard, of no regardWi' gentle folks an' a' that,
But Homer-like the glowrin byke,
Frae town to town I draw that.
Chorus
For a' that, an' a' that,An' twice as muckle's a' that,
I've lost but ane, I've twa behin',
I've wife eneugh for a' that.
16
II
I never drank the Muses' stank,Castalia's burn, an' a' that;
But there it streams, an' richly reams—
My Helicon I ca' that.
III
Great love I bear to a' the fair,Their humble slave an' a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.
IV
In raptures sweet this hour we meetWi' mutual love an' a' that;
But for how lang the flie may stang,
Let inclination law that!
V
Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft,They've taen me in, an' a' that;
But clear your decks, an' here's the Sex!
I like the jads for a' that.
Chorus
For a' that, an' a' that,An' twice as muckle's a' that,
My dearest bluid, to do them guid,
They're welcome till 't for a' that!
17
RECITATIVO
So sung the Bard, and Nansie's wa'sShook with a thunder of applause,
Re-echo'd from each mouth!
They toom'd their pocks, they pawn'd their duds,
They scarcely left to coor their fuds,
To quench their lowin drouth.
Then owre again the jovial thrang
The Poet did request
To lowse his pack, an' wale a sang,
A ballad o' the best:
He rising, rejoicing
Between his twa Deborahs,
Looks round him, an' found them
Impatient for the chorus:—
AIR
I
See the smoking bowl before us!Mark our jovial, ragged ring!
Round and round take up the chorus,
And in raptures let us sing:
18
Chorus
A fig for those by law protected!Liberty's a glorious feast,
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest!
II
What is title, what is treasure,What is reputation's care?
If we lead a life of pleasure,
'Tis no matter how or where!
III
With the ready trick and fableRound we wander all the day;
And at night in barn or stable
Hug our doxies on the hay.
IV
Does the train-attended carriageThro' the country lighter rove?
Does the sober bed of marriage
Witness brighter scenes of love?
V
Life is all a variorum,We regard not how it goes;
Let them prate about decorum,
Who have character to lose.
19
VI
Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets!Here's to all the wandering train!
Here's our ragged brats and callets!
One and all, cry out, Amen!
Chorus
A fig for those by law protected!Liberty's a glorious feast,
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest!
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |