The Poetry of Robert Burns Edited by William Ernest Henley and Thomas F. Henderson |
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TO JOHN GOLDIE |
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 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
TO JOHN GOLDIE
AUGUST 1785
I
O Goudie, terror o' the Whigs,Dread o' black coats and rev'rend wigs!
71
Girns and looks back,
Wishing the ten Egyptian plagues
May seize you quick.
II
Poor gapin, glowrin Superstition!Wae's me, she's in a sad condition!
Fye! bring Black Jock, her state physician,
To see her water!
Alas! there's ground for great suspicion
She'll ne'er get better.
III
Enthusiasm's past redemptionGane in a gallopin consumption:
Not a' her quacks wi' a' their gumption
Can ever mend her;
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption
She'll soon surrender.
IV
Auld Orthodoxy lang did grappleFor every hole to get a stapple;
But now she fetches at the thrapple,
An' fights for breath:
Haste, gie her name up in the chapel,
Near unto death!
72
V
'Tis you an' Taylor are the chiefTo blame for a' this black mischief;
But, gin the Lord's ain folk gat leave,
A toom tar barrel
An' twa red peats wad bring relief,
And end the quarrel.
VI
For me, my skill's but very sma',An' skill in prose I've nane ava';
But, quietlenswise between us twa,
Weel may ye speed!
And, tho' they sud you sair misca',
Ne'er fash your head!
VII
E'en swinge the dogs, and thresh them sicker!The mair they squeel ay chap the thicker,
And still 'mang hands a hearty bicker
O' something stout!
It gars an owthor's pulse beat quicker,
An' helps his wit.
VIII
There's naething like the honest nappy:Whare'll ye e'er see men sae happy,
73
'Tween morn and morn,
As them wha like to taste the drappie
In glass or horn?
IX
I've seen me daez't upon a time,I scarce could wink or see a styme;
Just ae hauf-mutchkin does me prime
(Ought less is little);
Then back I rattle on the rhyme
As gleg's a whittle.
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |